How much for an hour?
by TurningArt
Summary: Based on a prompt. A much older high-class escort Rachel and high school punk!Quinn as neighbors.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is based on MorningMsMagpie's prompt: Older Rachel and still in school Quinn. **

**This isn't a suspense story, so no criminal underworld, etc. Rachel is simply an honest to goodness escort and this is a plain romance/drama story. **

**Since this is obviously an AU, I would like to caution the readers not to carry canon expectations if and when they decide to give this fic a try. Of course, this is a faberry fic, that much we can be sure of. **

**Also, unlike The Loving Kind, I may not be able to update like a maniac, but I will promise once a week at the minimum. **

**Do share your thoughts and comments like before :)**

"How much for an hour?"

"Quinn, I know that most people don't understand the difference, but I'm an escort, not a prostitute."

"I _know_ the difference. I'm asking for your rate."

Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "1,500 dollars. For two hours. That's the minimum and without tip."

The pink-haired girl rummaged her jean pocket then put up her hand with dollar bills. "I've got two thousand. So I get two hours?"

"Quinn", the brunette chuckled sardonically, "I don't know where you got that money, and besides, I don't take minors for—"

"I'm _not_ a minor"

"You're seventeen."

"Not anymore."

Rachel stared at the young girl in front of her. "It's…it's your birthday?"

"Yeah", Quinn mumbled with her eyes firmly locked on the brunette's. "My parents gave me the money. So I can celebrate however I want to", she smiled and shook her head. "And this is how I want to celebrate it."

Frowning, Rachel stared at the wad of money gripped by Quinn. "You should be celebrating it with your parents and friends."

"Don't you _get_ it?", the pseudo-punk girl exclaimed in frustration. "My parents don't _care_. My parents are participating in a wife-swapping event because that's what they _do_."

Rachel's eyes softened at the young girl in front of her. "That's…that's…"

"That's what?"

The brunette shook her head and sighed. "Nothing"

"I've lived in Las Vegas all my life, Rachel. How long have you been here?"

"Three"

"Long enough for you to realize everyone's a freak here. Freak is normal. No one even bothers to take a second glance at me because, guess what? This?", Quinn points at her heavily dyed hair. "This is nothing."

"What about Santana?"

"What about her?"

"Why aren't you with her?"

"Because I told her I'm having dinner with you", Quinn mumbled and for the first time broke eye contact.

"Quinn…", Rachel sighed again. "I can't"

"When can you?", Quinn looked up and gazed at the woman expectantly. "I'll wait. You go by appointment, huh? So when? Do I have to call up that dude you call Puck?"

"Quinn, no. You don't understand. I'm not taking you in as a customer. I refuse to."

"Why?", the younger girl asked in a broken voice. "I can pay."

"And I have the right to choose whom I want to transact with. Just because you can pay, doesn't mean I'll accept a deal."

"You'd rather go with perverted Japanese businessmen than with me?"

When Rachel offered no answer, Quinn stuffed her money inside her pocket and slowly turned away.

"Quinn, please don't leave."

"Why?"

"We'll celebrate your birthday. You told Santana you're having dinner with me? Then, let's have dinner. My treat. "

Quinn opened her mouth to say something but got distracted by a buzzing sound coming from a cellphone. She glanced to her right and saw Rachel's phone lit up on the table.

Rachel aped Quinn's actions and stared at her phone before turning to look back at the young girl. "Don't mind that."

"Customer?"

"Forget about that. Let's go.", Rachel smiled. "Where do you want to eat?"

The pink-haired girl shook her head. "I don't want your pity", she whispered before running out of the brunette's apartment.

Rachel called out her name and tried to follow, but the young girl was fast. The brunette looked to her window and saw Quinn run inside her own apartment.

They were neighbors for about six months now in a posh apartment complex in Las Vegas. Rachel had established herself as a high-class escort around the Casino and hotel circles which meant she can pay the rent for a just few nights work. And because this was Las Vegas, it's in people's system not to care about their neighbor's business. Quinn was right, everyone's a freak here and everyone has a secret to keep. Rule of thumb to survive in locations like this is to not care where your neighbor goes at night, who they come home with and where they get the money to pay for a Benz. You want Pleasantville? It's not here.

Working for one man who considers her a business partner more than an employee, they started in her native New York since she was seventeen, then slowly built a good reputation and a deep network through referrals. Three years ago, they finally moved to the big leagues. Being an escort meant you have an expiration date. She's twenty-seven and the clock was ticking. She gave herself one last year before she officially ditches her stilettos and move to some place nicer—Barbados, Hawaii—wherever else. Maybe put up a small pub beside the beach and spend the remaining days of her life in an idyllic way. She didn't mind being alone. If for anything, she abhorred having company because she had long associated it with fake smiles and interests.

For someone who played with the big boys almost every night, Rachel had simple dreams.

Well, maybe not that simple.

She wanted to be a singer, and had the voice and over-all star quality, but knew her chances of success were slim to none. Raised by a hard-working Italian mother (by that we mean, she worked the streets every night) Rachel never cared much for her unknown Jewish millionaire father, Mr. Hiram Berry, as far as her birth certificate is concerned. At least she thinks her father was a Jewish millionaire. It was what her mom always recounted when drunk. Her late mother may have been a hooker, but she was a damn good mother. So Rachel may have exercised discretion, but never felt shame for what her mom had to do in order to keep them alive.

Her mom got promoted to pimp status when Rachel reached high school. The brunette's sexual awakening revolved around whores discussing men's penis sizes and the kinks they had to fulfill. Her mom never wanted her to be exposed to those things; but if you lived in the gutters of Jamaica, Queens, where else can you go? It was a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. So Shelby, that's Rachel's late mother, by the way, decided that at least in her whorehouse, she and the rest of her girls can watch over her baby.

Rachel didn't care and didn't know any better. Because her mom was the "boss", she was treated nicely by everyone. Even the police looked after her because they were earning from her mother's enterprise. Two things she loved the most in those years in her mother's brothel:

She never felt hunger unlike when her mom worked the streets.

And she was always surrounded by people who educated her in ways that would become useful later on in life.

Only the strong and wise survive. And by that logic, those hookers that worked for her mother were the strongest and wisest people she knew.

Camila Santiago. Rachel would always remember that name. Because she was the one who unwittingly inspired the brunette to reach her current career.

Women with bruises were familiar for the brunette. Hazards of work. But there was this one time when her mother asked her to visit Camila in her room because she was apparently sick and needed some company and comfort. There was that ugly feeling of being punched in the stomach when she was informed that Camila was indisposed. That wily prostitute was one of Rachel's favorites. She was young, cool, had spunk and always took time and talk to Rachel. She was the closest thing Rachel had to a sister. The young brunette knew instinctively (and braced herself) that it would be an ugly scene.

She could barely recognize Camila's face, and she was bed-ridden, but the older girl was still feisty as ever. "Shelby sent you?", she grinned with a cigarette stuck in her mouth. "Is that food? Oh dear god almighty. Your momma's an angel."

"Do you want me to heat it up?"

"Fuck, no need. I'm so hungry I don't care if it's frozen. Lemme at it.", Camila said as she grabbed the Tupperware and spoon from Rachel.

"Is there…is there anything else I can do?", the younger girl asked while watching in amazement how the hooker gobbled up the food.

Camila shook her head but motioned the other girl to sit with her, which Rachel dutifully did.

"You", the older girl pointed. "You're a good girl, Rachel."

The brunette smiled. "I try to be."

"Then you need to do whatever you can to get out of this cesspool."

Rachel looked scandalized. "But my mother's here. And so are you."

"Jesus, your mother's rooted here. She has nowhere else to go. _We_ have nowhere else to go. But you. I've heard you sing. You're good."

"Thank you."

"Thank me nothing. What I'm saying is try not to end up like your momma. Or me. D'ya want your face slapped while being fucked? Now, some bitches might find that kink something that will wet their dirty pussies, but not me. You? You want that kind of shit?"

Rachel shook her head slowly.

"So, you need to get the fuck out of here. Maybe some hotshot producer will notice ya."

"Maybe."

Camila looked at her and sighed. "If you are gonna sell some fantasy, Rachel, make sure you get more in return. Whores get crap. But, man. It's too late for me. You? Whatever you do, make sure you leave this fucking place."

That was the last time she saw Camila.

The girl was found dead the next morning.

Cause of death: Suicide.

Rachel was the last person she probably had spoken to.

Rachel was fifteen that time. Camila just turned nineteen.

The brunette had never forgotten that moment and everything Camila said.

By the time Rachel turned seventeen, she had lost her mother to a rehearsed raid gone awry when a trigger-happy newbie from the police force failed to read the memo and started shooting as soon as the girls began to scramble away. Shelby tried to stop the officer.

But there was no time to grieve because she needed to survive.

Rachel was an orphan but she was smart. She had a natural intelligence that absorbed knowledge and information like a sponge.

She stopped going to school and started looking for a job. Camila's advice haunted her day and night. She won't be like her mother or any of the girls in the whorehouse.

She got in a nightclub as a singer. Despite being underage, it was easy for Rachel to find someone who could forge documents and ID's. And thanks to her prostitute guardians, she knew the proper way to make herself look older than her age. Every night she hoped that Camila's words were prophetic. Every night for three months, she hoped a hotshot producer would really spot her.

The person who spotted her wasn't what she expected, but would soon be instrumental to her journey.

Noah Puckerman, the bouncer.

He was enterprising, that Jewish boy. He worked three jobs and constantly discussed with Rachel business plans that both knew would never take off.

He liked Rachel right away and became her only source of security. For someone who might be mistaken for a criminal, Noah was nothing but a gentleman to her—except when he tries to proposition sex—and would always walk Rachel home at night.

He became her first, and perhaps, only normal relationship with a man. By that she also meant, her bodyguard/manager the moment he introduced her to the world of high-class escorting.

"Sup", the young man nodded as he walked across the stage while Rachel was rehearsing.

"Hey", the brunette grinned.

"Got a minute? I've got, ah," he paused then looked around, "business proposition for you."

Rachel scowled. "Noah, I've told you while I think you're good-looking, I'm not sleeping with you."

"Okay, one, I told you, call me Puck. Two, while I think you've got a fine ass, I've given up on you. I've got bigger fish to fry. And three, this is a legit money-making idea."

"Okay", Rachel nodded, "what do you want, then?"

Puck held Rachel's arm and gently tugged her. "Not here, let's go outside"

"So…what is it?", Rachel asked as soon as they got to the backstage alley.

"Ever heard of escorts?"

"Yes, of course."

Puck lolled his head several times. "Wanna try it out?"

"No."

"What? Do you have any idea how much those girls are paid?"

"I do."

"And?"

"And, no."

"It's not the same as prostitution, Rachel.", Puck said softly. He was vaguely aware of Rachel's background and he realized he might have hit a sore spot.

"I know that."

"So? What's stopping you?"

Rachel looked away and chewed her lip.

"What, you think you're gonna be a successful singer? Newsflash, Rachel. No one gets discovered singing in a sleazy nightclub at Harlem. And you've got bills to pay. You actually have a better chance of meeting some music mogul while escorting."

He was right.

"Assuming I would say yes, what's in it for you?"

Puck's face lightened up. "I'll be the one to negotiate. Do background investigations; make sure they're not scumbags and shit. I'll accompany you every time, so you'll be safe."

"So, basically, you'll be my pimp."

Puck scoffed. "Pimps control your money. We're business partners. And besides, escorts don't sell sex."

"Some do."

"But not _us_. I've been in your apartment, Rachel. You've got tons of books I don't even know shit about, and _I _finished high school. You're smart. You talk way better than most college girls I've slept with. You're a classy girl by anyone's standards. You're girlfriend material. That's what we're gonna sell."

"I'm _not_ pretty enough."

"Says who?"

Rachel rolled her eyes then shook her head.

"Okay, fine. You're not Barbie. But who gives a fuck? Not everyone likes blonde, blue-eyed girls. Look", Puck gazed into Rachel's eyes to show how serious he was. "I've done my research, alright? Rich Japs and Koreans are everywhere. They come here to New York to invest and shit. You know what they like? They like classy, well-mannered girls who have big eyes and innocent smile. And they like to sing in karaoke bars. You're what they're looking for. They want American geishas, not Pamela Anderson."

"I can't even get past the fact that you said you've done your research."

Puck laughed. "Hey, you may be booksmart but I'm the businessman around here. I've asked around. I wouldn't have asked you without knowing what to do and how to go about it."

"How did you even arrive at this…business idea?"

"I slept with one last month", he shrugged. "She was one _hell_ of a talker, and I almost ditched her mid-way because gaaah, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. But yeah, I endured the endless chatter because, ca-ching! She told me how much she earns, and man, I tell you, you're ten times prettier and more refined than her. If she can manage to get customers, I don't see how you can't. So, what do you say to that?"

"How do we split the money?"

"40-60"

"I get the 60 since they won't be paying you to keep them company. That will be me."

Noah's lips quirked upwards. "Deal"

She trusted Puck. And he never broke that trust.

They worked their way up, starting from cheaper hotels, waiting in lobbies for hours, negotiating, wheeling and dealing. Puck had the golden tongue, the swagger, and the muscles to intimidate anyone who had any intention of violating his rules. But it was Rachel that was the key to everything.

She was a voracious reader. Half of her spare money was spent on second-hand books. She read everything and anything she found interesting. Her vocabulary, by result, was more than decent and she could give intelligent opinions from politics to environmental science. She studied etiquette, observed women dining at al frescos of expensive restaurants, sneakily listen to prep school girls talk with one another. She did her homework, and she did it well.

Lonely, extremely rich businessmen went nuts; a college-age girl whom they can have a proper conversation with while staying for a few days in New York. She catered well to those who wanted company but were too afraid or guilt-driven to sleep with anyone other than their wives.

Different men, different kinks.

By the time they have networked their way to four-star hotels, Rachel could pretty much quit her nightclub gig. But singing is what kept her sane, so leaving it simply became out of the question. Puck begrudgingly agreed to give her two days off per week for that purpose.

When Rachel hit twenty-one, she had regular patrons. She was their fantasy girlfriend. Someone they could look forward seeing to, dine in expensive restaurants, give flowers, make them feel young again. All without the heaviness attached to commitment and infidelity.

Seven hundred dollars for three hours was a small price to pay.

Three years ago, Puck decided to take a huge risk. They're moving to Vegas and put up a real escort service. New York laws were stricter, Vegas was still the wild frontier. They'll be up for serious competition, but operations would be easier.

He was moving to Vegas and he would never leave Rachel behind. They were a package deal.

By the time they landed in Nevada, Rachel stopped dreaming of becoming a singer and focused on simpler goals—financial security.

That was certainly a lot easier.

Because even in recession-driven America, Vegas never ran dry.

Her rate doubled in two years. She silently cursed Puck for having no business sense to move here earlier. But she really didn't have any right to complain. Money was good and she could finally afford things her late mother only dreamt of giving her.

She's gone far from the Jamaica, Queens. And she had no intentions of going back.

Rachel Berry, or Camila Santiago, as far as her patrons are concerned, was one of the most in-demand high-class escorts in all of Nevada.

She sold a fantasy.

And she got more in return.

Six months ago, she found an ad that was looking for a tenant in a very nice apartment. Upon much deliberation, Rachel decided to move out of Puck's apartment and venture out on her own. She was slowly weaning the boy off treating them as a buy one take one deal. The boy learned to love her like any older brother would but he depended heavily on Rachel to keep his apartment from being condemned by the health department. If he wanted to continue his lucrative business, while Rachel is off to some tropical paradise, he needed to organize his life on his own.

Surprisingly for the brunette, her landlord never bothered to ask for her background or the usual information she dreaded to give. All he looked for was a bank certificate, proof that she has the capacity to pay, and that was it.

And that's how Rachel met Quinn.

"Do you need help?"

Rachel turned around and closed the trunk of her car while balancing several grocery bags. She couldn't help but smile at the earnest tone in the girl's voice which betrayed her physical appearance. The taller girl looked like she came right out of some post-apocalyptic Tokyo-themed manga (oh, the things she learned from her Japanese customers).

"I live right in front of you. So, in case something goes missing, the police can easily find me.", the younger girl added with a lopsided smile when she mistook Rachel's silence as hesitation.

The brunette laughed. "Noted. And yes, if you would be kind enough to carry the ones on the floor; that would be greatly appreciated."

With her lower lip pulled between her teeth, Quinn couldn't help but look around the older girl's apartment. It was very Spartan in furniture and decors. "Transient?"

"Hmm?", Rachel hummed while fixing a cold drink for the girl.

"You've been here for a month, but you barely have anything on your wall. So, I guess that means you have no plans to stay here for a long time."

Is this girl observant or what.

Rachel smiled as she handed the glass of drink to Quinn. "Most likely, yes. If things go according to schedule, I'd be out of here in a year's time."

"Oh. That's sad. You're one of the nicer ones in this complex."

"You just met me", Rachel chuckled. "I don't even know your name."

"Like I said, you've been here for a month. I've seen enough to make a judgment. You always greet the guards and maintenance, and feed the stray cats every morning and dinner. That's being nice in my book."

The brunette's eyebrow rose involuntarily. Alarm bells should be ringing because this girl has obviously taken up Stalker 101. But for some reason, her instinct was telling her to relax.

"I'm just really observant. I like watching people, but I don't go out of my way to install cameras inside your alarm clock or something.", Quinn said seriously as if reading Rachel's mind.

"I don't think you're a stalker", Rachel assured the younger girl but made a mental note to replace her alarm clock anyway.

"Quinn", the younger girl mumbled. "My name's Quinn Fabray."

"Quinn. That's a very nice name."

"What's yours?"

"Rachel. Rachel Berry."

"Cute"

"Is it?", Rachel laughed.

"Yeah. So, uhm", Quinn cleared her throat. "I helped you. Where's my reward?"

The brunette's smile faltered. "Reward? Whatever happened to good neighbor policy?"

The punk girl rolled her eyes. "I see you smoke."

"Ah.", Rachel chuckled and shook her head. "How old are you?"

"Not old enough to buy one", Quinn sighed dramatically. "Please? I'll buy your groceries every week if you pay me cigarettes."

"Nope. "

"Come on"

"No. Okay? Buying groceries. That's a very intimate thing. And since you've given me a preview of your stalking skills, no. The last thing I want is for you to know what kind of deodorant I buy and stuff."

"I don't care if you even use Old Spice", Quinn drawled out while looking up the ceiling.

"I care that I'll be transacting with a minor, using cigarettes as the medium of exchange. If you want to smoke, here" Rachel took her case out of her purse and threw it at Quinn. "But if your parents ever catch you, don't you dare point at me."

"You're pretty cool for an adult.", Quinn grinned widely before lighting up a stick.

Rachel looked absolutely scandalized. "Do I look old to you?"

"I said, adult. Not old. One can be a teenager and look old. But you…no. You look and smell nice."

"I _smell_ nice"

Quinn tapped the bridge of her nose. "Very sensitive. Plus, I caught a whiff of your perfume when I took the grocery off your hands."

"So, is this a habit of yours to sniff people?"

"No, just the nice looking ones."

"You're quite the charmer."

"Yeah? Well—fuck", Quinn mumbled and took out her phone. "San, yeah. Okay. I'll pick you up. Whatever. How long are you planning to stay? Okay, cool. Yeah, thirty minutes. Bye"

"Got somewhere to go?"

"Yeah", the younger girl sighed. "My best friend's dad is in one of his funky moods again. I'm just gonna go pick her up."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah…yeah she's a tough bitch. Anyway, thanks for the smokes. I'll see ya!"

"Hey! You took my whole—damn it.", Rachel shook her head then laughed as she watched Quinn drive off a BMW SUV. Outwitted by a rich, bored, punk wannabe.

Quinn kept an icy appearance but drove as quickly as possible. They've been friends since freshman year; long enough for Quinn to know what when Santana Lopez calls for help, it meant serious business. Santana was her rock, the only person in her high school that Quinn could tolerate and trusted. She was a cheerleader but never apologized for being smart. The Latina, who comes from the poorer section of their town, knew that while beauty can be very powerful, it's the combination of that and brains that make a deadly weapon. She held a good reputation in their school because she was in all sorts of clubs and was a consistent honors student—something Quinn didn't have.

Though she didn't exactly have a bad reputation, either.

She was an artist, an abstract painter; a loser as far as the world of teen drama is concerned. But in a huge public school that mixed all kinds of backgrounds, everyone was almost invisible and bland.

Quinn appreciated the fact that _when_ some people did care enough to be snarky, the Latina shrugged it off. Their relationship had been a constant source of gossip. Quinn was openly lesbian and Santana was closed about her private life. She didn't date because her one constant fear is to be like her mother who ended up pregnant at the age of sixteen. No boys, no pregnancy. That was her motto. So yes, it became natural for people to assume that they had a thing. When Quinn voiced out her concern for her friend's reputation, Santana took it with a stride.

"So? If people think I'm your girlfriend, I can think of a million other things worse than being called a lesbian. I don't care, Quinn. That's not gonna make me unfriend you."

Quinn appreciated it and became Santana's most rabidly loyal companion. Initially, the Latina felt offended by Quinn's kind gestures; driving her around, buying her clothes, treating her to lunch every day. But she eventually realized that money may be the only language Quinn knew best. It's what her parents taught her. Quinn wasn't buying their friendship. It's just that, it's the best way her friend knew how to thank her.

Their dynamics worked well. For an angst-driven, loner like Quinn, she needed a sounding board. A voice of reason.

Someone who could actually stop her from being a Holden Caulfield.

Quinn was Santana's protector, an escape from her tragic domestic situation.

"Damn", Quinn muttered as soon as Santana grumpily entered her vehicle.

"Not another word. Just drive.", the Latina said while surveying the bruises on her face on the mirror.

The punk nodded and took Santana back to the comfort of the artist's home.

"You think he would be too drunk to even swing an arm. But no", the Latina groaned while applying ointment on her bruises in front of Quinn's vanity. "Quinn. Hey", she turned around when she got no response from her friend.

Quinn was seated beside her window and stared outside.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

"She's feeding the stray cats again."

"Who? What?" Santana stood up and sat next to Quinn, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of what her friend was talking about. She saw Rachel hunched over and petting one of the annoying street felines. "Oh, eww. No wonder they're getting fat."

"Yeah, but I think it's a nice thing. She doesn't have to do it or care at all, but she does."

Santana frowned then studied her best friend. "Who's she?"

"Rachel"

The Latina raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "Someone's got a crush on her new neighbor."

The punk's lip turned upwards.

Santana nodded and took Quinn's reaction as an affirmation. She went back to mending her wounds when it was clear that the artist was bent on staring at Rachel until the woman was out of her sight.

"You know, I told you, you can stay here for as long as you want, Tana.", Quinn finally said.

"Your parents?"

Quinn scoffed. "Where are they?"

"Just because you're a latchkey child doesn't mean it's okay to let people live here permanently."

"Trust me, they wouldn't even realize. I've not seen them in two weeks. The only way I know they're actually still alive is through the notes and money they leave for me in the morning."

Quinn's parents were nouveau rich. They worked their asses off to reach the status that they are currently enjoying. They had no time to deal with their child's affairs. Not even when Quinn had her first exhibit last year. Her art teacher cared more in the four years they've worked together than her parents in her whole life.

Quinn thought of experimenting once to see how apathetic her parents were. She almost died in the process. Her parents' reaction was to send her into the ward and had her rehabbed over the summer.

Seventeen and already institutionalized. What a way to cap off her high school days.

They chalked it up to Quinn's artistic streak. Van Gogh chopped of his ears, Quinn took valium.

Different artists, different forms of angst.

Quinn wasn't really suicidal, but she didn't mind dying.

She didn't mind living either. Especially since she had a nice-smelling neighbor who fed cats out of the goodness of her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn heard her phone's alarm go off. She immediately rolled away from the blonde girl who was just recovering from her sexual high, and scrambled to take a look at her window.

"What the hell, Quinn?"

"We're done. You can leave.", she dismissively said then grabbed a hoodie and sweatpants.

"What do you mean we're done? I haven't even returned the favor."

Quinn fumbled to put on her clothes then threw the other girl's clothes on her bed. "There's always a next time, Cecile. Now get."

"You're throwing me out? It's fucking past midnight!"

"You have a car and you live five minutes away from me. I don't feel like waking up next to you."

"Fine. Whatever. I really don't get you. You should have yourself checked or something."

Zipping up her top, she stared blankly at the other girl grumbling while putting on her own clothes.

"What?", Cecile huffed.

"Do I look like I am remotely interested in hearing your opinion?"

"Fuck you."

"I told you, _that's_ for another time. See you in school on Monday."

Rachel drove in just in time to witness the almost comical moment when Quinn was literally dragging then pushed the girl inside her car. It was like clockwork. It wasn't hard for the young artist to figure out Rachel's schedule because it was so predictable.

The brunette leaves at six in the evening and comes home at one a.m. Despite the late nights, Rachel picks up her newspaper at exactly 6:30 in the morning. Quinn took a sharp intake of breath upon seeing the older woman step out of the car wearing a sleek black dress that matched her dark smooth hair. Everything about Rachel looked lustrous as far as Quinn could decipher.

"Everything okay?", Rachel asked with a smile.

"Yeah", Quinn nodded then scratched the back of her head as she took a step closer. "She was, uhm, she forgot that she had somewhere else to go."

"That's…not Santana, right?"

Quinn smiled a bit. "You remember her?"

The brunette tilted her head. "You introduced her to me. How could I not?"

"Well, my parents still refer to her as that "Latina friend" I have", the artist drawled out while air quoting. "Luckier sometimes when they become more specific, like Puerto Rican. But that's not even accurate because her dad's Ecuadorian.", Quinn rambled on then paused, feeling embarrassed at the fact that Rachel wore a slightly amused expression.

She took a deep breath, "But yeah, she went back to their house. Says her mom needs her or something.", Quinn shrugged.

Rachel furrowed her brows a bit. If there's one person who can detect physical abuse miles away, that's her. When they had a brief encounter this morning, it wasn't difficult to notice Santana's thick concealer and huge glasses.

"Here", Quinn cleared her throat. "Just wanted to give this back to you." She took out Rachel's cigarette case and handed it to the woman.

"You waited for me? You could've done this in the morning, you know. But thank you", Rachel smiled.

Quinn looked up and smiled back. "You're welcome"

The brunette chuckled after opening the case. "Empty"

"I _was_ after the contents, not the case."

"Obviously"

"It's too…glittery."

"It's very special to me.", Rachel defended.

"Why?"

"It was my late mother's"

Rachel saw a flash of guilt in Quinn's face. "Why did you let me take it?"

"I didn't. You ran out", the brunette chuckled. "It's fine. I could have gotten it from you this morning. I _kind _of knew you'd return it out of goodwill"

"What if I had thrown it away?"

"But you didn't. So everything's good.", Rachel nodded.

"But what if I did?", the young girl insisted.

"Ah, well", Rachel pursed her lips and sighed. "Had you thrown it, there's nothing else I could've done except buy a new one."

"You wouldn't get mad at me?"

"I'd probably be really pissed. Then I'd get a new one."

Quinn kicked an imaginary stone and smiled. "Good thing I didn't"

"Besides sniffing people, is it a habit of yours to stay up late at night just to give back something you borrowed?"

"It's Friday night. Well, it's Saturday already. I don't need to wake up early", the teenager replied in a slightly off tangent way and completely ignoring the brunette's statement.

"Still. It's almost…", she glanced at her watch, "one thirty."

"I'm not yet sleepy."

She got the hint. She just chose to ignore it.

"Do your parents know you're out here?", Rachel asked while glancing at Quinn's apartment and figuring out which of the windows on the second floor were of the young girl's bedroom and that of her parents'.

"They're on a cruise.", Quinn lied. Well, not really. She _thinks_ they're on a cruise. She's pretty sure her mom left a note about their whereabouts.

"And you're alone?"

"Yeah"

Rachel studied the young girl's face and found no trace of anxiety or fear over the fact that she was left on her own.

Just stating facts.

"I should go though. I'm sure you're tired." Quinn mumbled with—if Rachel's not being delusional—a tinge of sadness.

The brunette smile and nodded slightly. "A bit, yes. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

It was meant to be a courteous reply, but Rachel underestimated Quinn.

The young girl was standing in front of her own apartment early morning and waited for Rachel to pick up the paper. "Quinn? Please tell me you actually slept."

The brunette was getting a bit anxious about the younger girl's unusual behavior. But there was still that nagging feeling that told her to not run the opposite direction. It's a bizarre sensation because normally, her instincts will tell her who she shouldn't trust. But then again, there's Puck. This could just be a similar circumstance, except, he was straightforward about his intentions.

Rachel had yet to decipher why Quinn had taken extraordinary attention to her. She reassessed her own behavior but nothing stood out as far as she was concerned. She was just another single woman working the nightshift at some twenty four-hour business operation in Vegas. Dime a dozen.

"I did", Quinn grinned.

For about an hour.

One can't simply sleep while attempting to express through painting Rachel's beauty. A few canvasses ruined later, the girl settled for one of her exhibit paintings that she refused to sell. She had plenty of time to work on her masterpiece since her muse would not be leaving anytime soon.

"But I wanted to give this to you"

"This?"

"This" The teenager picked up a huge frame leaning against the door and walked towards Rachel's direction. "This is for you", she said in an almost shy whisper.

Rachel's eyes widened when her attention was immediately drawn to the lower right hand corner of the painting and saw a "Q. Fabray" signature. "You…did this?", she asked in awe.

"I paint…sometimes." Quinn twisted her lips and fidgeted on the spot before adding, "Watercolor. I like watercolor."

"It's beautiful", the brunette gushed as she stared at the different splashes that reminded her of the colors of the universe. You know, the ones depicted in science books about the Big Bang and what not. "I love it."

"Yeah?", Quinn whispered. "Why?"

"I don't know why", Rachel smiled bashfully, suddenly feeling insecure about her knowledge of the arts. It's one thing to talk about it with businessmen who _pretend_ to like and understand it. It's another thing to be speaking directly to the maker. "I mean...I've read things about abstract painting, but I'm not well-versed in expressing opinion about it. I just love the colors. It, uhm, it reminds me of my high school days."

The young artist smiled widely. "That's the only reason that matters to me."

Rachel looked up. "What reason?"

"That it spoke to you. I would have taken it back had you started talking about techniques and color mixing."

This made the brunette laugh. "Well, don't worry about that. I wouldn't know anything about…mixing colors and strokes.", she gestured vaguely then smiled dreamily at the painting. " Quinn…Thank you, really. This is…"

"It would be a nice thing to put on your wall."

The brunette pursed her lips and nodded slowly, realizing the apparent intent of the gesture. "You're _really _that concerned about my wall, huh?"

"Yeah…kind of. It hurts to see plain white. I mean, it's not even beige or cream. Just plain…boring…white."

"Well…you're going to see it again, because I'm about to have breakfast and I'm inviting you in.", she smiled then motioned Quinn inside. "Your reward."

An artist.

Now, that somehow made sense.

Rachel was of course dependent on pigeonholes. She's used to the different species of corporate animals, but not of the opposite side of the spectrum. For the brunette, therefore, Quinn's semi-erratic behavior, the focus on details, and her physical appearance all tied up neatly into the artiste package she's barely familiar with.

She sighed in relief. Now she sort of understood. What still didn't make sense is Quinn's interest in her. Maybe her charitable acts spoke to the younger girl, as Quinn keenly pointed out before. She followed Quinn's movements as the young girl carried a toolbox she borrowed from the maintenance and went ahead at hooking the painting on her wall without as much as asking permission.

"It doesn't hurt anymore?"

"Not anymore", Quinn said with a grin before taking a huge chunk off her croissant.

Rachel slowly raised her eyebrows subconsciously while observing the girl's appetite. She wasn't emaciated, but she certainly could put on a few more pounds. There were dark circles around it, but more importantly, there was a certain kind of weariness found in those beautiful hazel eyes.

For someone so young and beautiful, there was no luster in Quinn's smile or gaze.

"Mff", Quinn swallowed. "What?"

Oh, wow. Was she staring at the teenager?

"What?"

"Why are you staring at me?"

Oh, okay. She was.

"Nothing. I was just wondering if you want me to heat up another croissant."

She's not a great escort for nothing. Quick. Always quick on the reply.

Quinn looked like she was about to combust in her seat then looked at her now empty plate. "I…uhm…no, it's okay."

"Sure?"

"Yeah"

"Okay"

"I, uhm, I should go. I've got…I've got this thing I need to go to."

"Quinn, it's okay if you're still hungry."

"I—no, I'm good." Quinn stood up but immediately sat down again when Rachel placed a gentle hand on her arm and smiled widely. "Okay, I guess one more won't hurt."

Quinn felt something very unfamiliar.

She felt warm inside.

Could be because she hardly remembers the last time she's been served breakfast.

It could also come from the fact that Rachel bent over to get the croissant from the refrigerator, and gave Quinn a preview of what could be the best formed ass the artist has ever since.

Whatever the case may be, Quinn decided she's in love.

And that means despair, woe and other forms of artistic suffering. Tragic, really. Out of all the girls she had slept with, she finds herself in love with an older (and most likely straight) woman, who probably sees her as a metaphorical stray cat that needed to be fed.

"You're just a regular Pollock, aren't you?", Rachel mumbled to herself while scrolling an art website she found through searching Quinn's name. She had spare time because the client was running late. Evicting Puck from his office desk, she decided to do some stalking on her own. "I paint sometimes, my ass"

"Language, Miss Santiago", Puck chuckled. "Whatcha looking at?" He rested his arm on Rachel's shoulder and peered at the computer screen. "Quinn Fabray, seventeen and a native of Las Vegas, is one of the country's up and coming modern abstract artists…what's this shit? You're into art collecting now?"

"No", the brunette said distractedly as she scrolled through Quinn's work. "Oh my god", she whispered. Clicking on the thumbnail, Rachel gaped at the photo of the same painting the teenager gave her just that morning.

Puck scoffed. "Seriously? That thing's worth one thousand? I can make—"

"She's seventeen and has had a solo exhibit. So no, you can't make squiggly lines, call it art and compare it to her work.", Rachel huffed then shook her head.

"Woah, someone's touchy. I'm _sorry_ if I can't make heads or tails with this abstract painting shit. Why are you so interested in it, anyway?"

Rachel chewed her lower lip then smiled proudly. "Because I have that."

"You have what?"

"That", Rachel pointed to the screen.

"You have that painting with you."

"Yes"

"Why?"

"Because the artist just gave it to me this morning."

"You _know_ this artist? This seventeen year old wunderkind?"

"Wunderkind, huh?", Rachel looked at Puck, clearly impressed with the use of a big word.

"I read the books you give me, okay?"

"Why are you being defensive?", the brunette laughed. "It's a good thing."

"Yeah, whatever. Point is, you know her?"

"Yes, she's my neighbor and she gave me that one as a housewarming gift." Rachel frowned then pouted. "At least I think it was a housewarming gift. Unless, she installed a hidden camera at the back of…hmm"

"What the hell are you mumbling about?"

"Nothing."

"You're being weird."

"Not asking for your opinion."

"Let's sell that—no, not now—we can sell that in a few years time. I bet it's gonna fetch a good price." Rachel could see Puck's mind working overtime. You can detect if he sensed a money-making scheme when his eyebrows start to waggle uncontrollably. "You should ask her for more of her stuff."

"What makes you think she'll give me more than that?"

"I don't. But it won't hurt for you to try."

"I will do no such thing."

"This is why, I'm the boss and you're not."

"Why? Because I don't take advantage of people?"

"Hey, I'm a _lot_ nicer than most employers. But speaking of exploitation, I gotta go and train new recruits. See you before you leave."

Train new recruits.

He makes it sound so clinical.

Rachel's heart aches a bit every time Puck says it.

Twenty-first century and nothing has changed.

Modern courtesans, geishas, and all other forms of euphemisms still exist.

It was Rachel's policy not to engage in any sexual act with the customers, but that doesn't mean everyone follows the same set of guidelines.

Rules are actually vague in a business like this. They don't sell it, and clients cannot force it. But if the girls decide to have sex with their clients in exchange for money through the course of their interaction, that is beyond the bounds of the agreement between the escort service and the customer.

It's beyond company policy and they will not be held liable.

Some men pay, like money will never run dry.

Some women have insatiable thirst.

Facts of life.

Rachel? Well, she liked to keep a little bit of her dignity intact because unlike her mother, she _has _a choice. What's more disturbing for the brunette is majority of these "new recruits" are college girls who join the field so they can afford branded clothes. That made perfect sense, though. It was rare to find someone of Rachel's background to have the same self-learned manners. She considered herself lucky. Statistics wasn't on her side. Most girls who came from the same personal history would have fallen into the vicious poverty trap.

And that's why she never understood it, and she looked down on these college girls.

Because they have goddamn choices.

They're not going hungry. Yet, they swallow their pride and let these filthy men hold their hands, salaciously leer, and kiss their lips—assuming you have those limits— for the sake of a new handbag or some form of thrill.

Client is waiting, said the receptionist. She glanced at the wall clock and reminded herself that she only needed three hours of pretend time today.

When you've got a septuagenarian client, you've got an early log-out and a huge tip for wiping soup off their faces like a good caregiver.

Rachel scrunched her nose at the brief, confusing thought of Quinn dutifully waiting for her return home. Scrolling at Quinn's profile one more time, she sighed heavily then turned off the computer.

But it wasn't Quinn she found hunched over at the curbside of the artist's apartment. An internal battle occurred immediately as to why she should even care. But she does. Puck calls it a genetic flaw. She mostly didn't go far as reaching out; she spares everyone from the hooker with a heart cliché. But she would always spend days ruminating and sulking over things and people that she should have helped—from beggars to monks.

"Santana?", Rachel called out when the battle was over. "Santana, right?", she clarified when the girl didn't respond right away.

The Latina looked up and the escort almost fumbled at the sight of the young girl with a bloodied nose but indifferent expression. "Do you know where Quinn is? I've been calling her for hours and she's not answering, so I just decided to take a cab and, well."

"No, I'm sorry", Rachel nodded and jogged towards the Latina, immediately picking up the girl's gym bag then helped Santana get up. "I don't know where Quinn is, but you can wait inside my place."

The Latina leaned back and blinked. "But you don't know me."

"You're Quinn's best friend, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, then. You're welcomed in my home."

"Really?"

"Really"

"Really?"

"Is that incredulity or are you just being annoying?", Rachel chuckled.

Santana smiled. "I'm being annoying."

"Thought so. Testing me, huh?", the older woman said as she opened the door.

"Maybe. I just wanted to test Q's theory about you."

"Theory"

"That you're Mother Teresa's reincarnation cos you're ubernice."

"Well, Mother Teresa would probably wipe your bloody nose, but not me. So, her theory has been debunked on the spot."

"Cool", Santana nodded and grinned. She appreciated the fact that Rachel didn't ignore her current state but refrained from smothering her with questions and concern. She didn't even give that patronizing look most people give her on the street when she's bruised. "I'll tell her that. If she comes home tonight, anyway. Uhm, of she doesn't, can I crash on your sofa?"

"Oh, yeah, sure"

Damn it, Quinn. You better come home.

"Shouldn't you be worried that she's not answering her phone?"

Santana sighed heavily. "She's most likely with some of her artist friends. She kind of gets…lost from the world when she's with them."

"Okay, well, you know her a lot more than I do. If you think she's safe, then I'll trust your judgment. Guest bathroom's on the right. I have spare towels on the cabinet. If you want to freshen up, feel free to do so, and I'll go make us some tea."

Puck will have a field day mocking her if he finds out that she has a second career running a halfway house for troubled teenagers.

Hmm. Wait. Maybe she _can_ do that sometime in her life.

Well, no. She wants to stay in a beach until she dies.

She'll try to reconcile the two later.

Right now, she needed to fix her guest room because she had a strong feeling Santana's so-called best friend won't be coming home tonight.

"Hey, that's Quinn's painting, right?", Santana finally noticed after emerging from the bathroom. The Latina had the same idea as Rachel. She wore her sleep clothes because she knew Quinn wouldn't be home. If that was the case, and Rachel didn't invite the girl in…

"Yes, it's hers, she gave it this morning. Wait, Santana, is this the first time this happened?"

"Quinn giving her work to someone? Yeah. Well, no. I have like, five. She said I can sell them to help pay for college. But to an almost stranger, yeah. I think so."

"Oh", the older girl said in surprise. She then frowned and shook her head. "Uhm, no. That's not what I meant. I mean, you waiting for her outside and she didn't come home."

"No, it's happened before. Quinn sent a memo to security to always let me in. Why?"

"What did you do?"

"I waited until she came back the next morning."

Rachel opened her mouth to form an "O" and nodded again.

Santana scoffed. "Waiting outside is still better than being a punching bag", she admitted while pointing to her nose. "It's not a big deal, though. Quinn's there most of the time." Then, the Latina backtracked. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you about this. She's a very private person."

"I won't tell her you told me things", Rachel promised with a smile.

"Thanks. And thanks for letting me stay. Like I said, you don't know me."

"You're right. But I do know how it feels…to sleep outside."

"Oh? You've ran away before?"

"Not really…but, close."

"Gotcha. Not for me to know about." Santana nodded and gave a thumbs up. "So, uhm, sofa."

"No, I've got a spare room."

"You sure about that? Because my body's really all mush right now. I'll definitely take that offer."

"I'm sure. Go and get some rest. I'm sure that mushy body of yours will be as stiff as wood tomorrow."

Santana grinned widely then rushed to the guest room.

She couldn't sleep. Not because she didn't trust Santana, but because her mind was whirling with thoughts about Quinn. The Latina was easy to decode. Acknowledge her problems but don't overwhelm her with attention. She seems level-headed and socially adept. Maybe too proficient that she was able to talk her way into finding a warm bed tonight before Rachel could even think. Or maybe it was her who was going soft. Comfortable living does that to a person. She peeped through her window one more time in the hope of seeing Quinn's car drive in but found the parking slot still empty.

She shouldn't be thinking about the girl this much. They've only known each other for a couple of days. And that's using the word "known" loosely. She's in denial, but she knows deep down that she is drawn to the girl the same way that the artist seems to gravitate towards her.

Nothing good will come out of this. Rachel thought. She had managed to detach herself from people since she left Jamaica, Queens; she's forgotten what it's like to actually have friends.

She certainly didn't need to form new ones in Las Vegas.

Especially when A, this so called potential friend is ten years her junior, and B, she's all geared up to leave her current life behind.

She had to give it to Santana. She knew Quinn well.

She was awoken by a motorcycle engine pathetically attempt not to make a scandalous noise inside the complex. Taking a glance from the window, she saw a familiar bunch of pink hair get off the bike driven by a man.

"Quinn", she whispered to herself then jumped out of the bed. The girl looked like she had a rough night and struggled to unlock the door with her keys. "Where in the world did you go?"

She heard her front door close and saw Santana running towards the other girl, slapping the punk's head from the back and spew curses in Spanish. The artist barely struggled and simply flinched while being given a worthy chastising. Santana eventually went back to Rachel's apartment while Quinn waited outside.

Then there was that moment when Quinn looked up and locked eyes with the older woman. Rachel expected a grin, or she would have even settled for a shy wave. But the teenager stared at her blankly and squinted, as if trying to figure out who she was.

And that's when Rachel figured it all out. The glassy eyes and the vacant expression. They only meant one thing.

Quinn was high on drugs.

That's what Santana meant when she said Quinn gets lost in her world.

Santana, once again stepped out carrying her bag and dragged Quinn inside her own home. She didn't want to meddle.

She should be running away now.

She didn't need this kind of complication.

But how far can she go when there is someone crying for help?

Rachel closed her eyes and said loudly, "You're assuming she's asking for help. She's not Camila or any of the other girls you knew were on the edge but you didn't say or do anything. She's not them. Stay away, Rachel."

Breathing deeply, she opened her eyes and nodded to herself before checking her phone. Long day as per appointment. A high roller. This will take all night.

And then she'll talk to Quinn.

**A/N: **I have a lot of friends who are also artists, and by no means behave the way Quinn does. It's not my intention to "box" artists.

I also don't mean to disparage women who are trapped in either prostitution or escorting.

I just wanted to make those things clear.

**A/N 2: **Thank you so much for the very positive and critical responses. I hyperventilated for a day or two, panicking at the pressure I felt to do really well, lol.

To answer some questions:

To Alex: regarding the caveat about canon expectations, I meant that while I would try to not deviate much from the characters' personalities, I hope that the readers won't be expecting a Rachel Berry of Season 1-3, or that Santana will have a Brittany (not saying she won't, just saying don't kill me if I don't). I find that some people really focus on whether the characters are "in character", but given that this is a very different setting, I just don't think it's possible. Nothing really to do with the course of this plot :-)

To An Educated Fish: Yes, I've read The Catcher in the Rye and I think my idea of angst, self-important teenager would always be influenced by this book. Holden Caulfield _is_ the poster child of the teenage angst brigade :-)


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn bit her lower lip and tried hard to focus.

Or at least look repentant.

But the more agitated Rachel was—walking back and forth, raising a finger and chest rising while reprimanding her—the more Quinn felt that she was increasingly getting turned on.

She was seated on the couch, while the brunette was standing. It was, by far, _the_ most titillating experience in the artist's life.

This, without touching or any form of seduction.

Quinn's mind started drifting to what that dominant side can do in bed.

A lot. Quinn's dirty mind thought. She can do a _lot_.

Oh, hell yeah.

Her lips twitched then she unconsciously licked it.

"…did you take ecstasy? …Quinn."

"Huh?"

Rachel scowled. "I asked if you took ecstasy because you've been licking your lips and swallowing. Do you need water? That drug could drain your spinal fluid, did you know that?"

Quinn looked down and gripped the side of her legs like a child.

"You did", Rachel nodded then groaned loudly in frustration.

"I don't really see what's the big deal. I don't take it regu—"

"_What_. Is the big deal?", Rachel screamed. "Ever heard of OD? You could die, Quinn!"

"Huh", the teenager blinked then nodded. "I still don't see the big deal."

Rachel looked dumbfounded by Quinn's response.

"People die every day", the artist continued.

"You…", the brunette breathed deeply then shook her head. Chuckling sadly, she felt embarrassed for herself. "I don't even know why I'm making a fool of myself right now. You're right. People die every single day. Hell, there's always someone dying per minute, or second, or just—you're right."

"I'm…sorry?" Quinn wasn't exactly sure why she was apologizing. And judging by the tone she used, the artist wasn't even sure if she _should_ be apologizing in the first place. But it felt like it was the right thing to do. Apologies always pacify people when they're mad, right?

Wrong.

The older woman scoffed. "I'm not your keeper. You can do whatever you want. But a word of advice? Give Santana a spare key to your home. She doesn't deserve that kind of treatment from you."

That seemed to have struck a sensitive chord.

"Oh. Wow", Quinn looked flabbergasted. "What? You let her into your home once and you're now an expert on what Santana deserves?"

"No. But that's the whole point, isn't it? _I'm_ not supposed to be the one taking care of _her_. But I sort of did last night, because her self-proclaimed best friend was nowhere in sight. Do you have any idea how hard it must have been for her to ask _me, _a total stranger, if she can sleep on _my_ couch? Do you?"

Quinn's eyes darted everywhere except at Rachel's direction. "I don't hear her complaining about how I treat her."

"Beggars can't be choosers", Rachel bit back. "But _you_ wouldn't know that, would you? Nice house, cool car, huge fund"

"You know, I wish my dad would just hit me. At least I would know he knows I exist"

"So", Rachel pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "Since he doesn't. You self-destruct. Real _mature_."

"I'm seventeen!"

"I was already working to survive at your age!"

Quinn's eyes widened and her mouth was left hanging, unsure of what to say or do.

She had said too much. Rachel knew it. It was unnecessary to open her can of worms for this brat who feels entitled to everything. "But you know what? Do whatever you want, Quinn. I'm just your neighbor. Don't drag me into your world of made up problems."

That was unfair. Rachel knew that as well. Quinn never asked her to be at the teenager's doorstep early in the morning to check on them. The young girl certainly didn't ask her to care and start acting like a guardian. But Quinn's lack of empathy was infuriating. There is nothing about her life that she needed to share with that girl, and she was now determined to keep it that way.

So she did what she would normally do best in situations like this. Walkout and walk away.

Quinn was left reeling from what happened. She actually had no idea how to process her emotions that seemed to have gone haywire. It doesn't help that she's still feeling the strong effects of ecstasy in her system. She slowly stood up and sauntered back to her room. Quietly as possible, she opened the door and saw Santana still cocooned in her bed.

She gently lay down next to Santana and traced the fading bruises on the Latina's arm. "I know you're awake", she whispered. "And I know you heard everything."

"Don't even think of apologizing, Q", the Latina murmured with her eyes still closed. "You've nothing to apologize to me."

"But she's right."

"I got mad at you because you know how I feel about your…recreational activities."

"Okay"

"But she's right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"I need keys"

Quinn smiled then kissed Santana's shoulder. "Okay. I'll get you spare keys."

"That was one huge break up. And to think you haven't even started dating. Good job, Q."

The artist scowled but continued to give butterfly kisses on the Latina's shoulder. "I _really_ don't need your dripping sarcasm today"

"How about tomorrow?"

"How about you shut up?", Quinn growled.

"How about you stop trying to seduce me because you know that will never work?"

"But I won't get you pregnant", Quinn whined.

That made Santana cackle so hard, it hurt her body. "Ow, God", she groaned while holding her rib area. "Stop making me laugh. It still hurts."

"I wasn't trying to!"

"Can it, Quinn. I'm not attracted to you. _Your_ fault you're all riled up because of E, go take care of yourself. Not my problem."

"Okay"

"Ugh. Quinn! Not while I'm here!", Santana rolled to the other side and almost fell off the bed when Quinn snuck her hand inside her sweatpants. "I seriously wonder sometimes while I'm still your friend."

The artist cackled as she removed her hand then grinned impishly. "Because you love me and my crazy. Come back here. I was just trying to annoy you. Your rejection hurts, you know?"

"If you touch my ass, I swear, I will tie you up and dye back your hair to blonde, take a photo of you and post it all over our school."

The artist bunched up some of her hair. "Don't. I'll behave. I promise."

"Okay, good." Santana snuggled up to Quinn. "So…what do you plan to do with Rachel?"

"You heard her, she's just my neighbor. Besides, she's probably—most likely—not gay for Fabray as well. So whatever. I don't care"

"Sure you don't care"

Quinn sighed. "I don't want to talk about her anymore."

"Okay"

"Thanks"

Santana nodded then furrowed her brows after a few minutes. "Gay for Fabray? Did you fucking make that up?"

Quinn scoffed. "Please, I'm _not_ that narcissistic. Cecile told me that's what some of the people say about the girls who _still_ insist they're straight but go after me anyway."

"That includes her"

"Yeah, well. I don't really care what they call themselves. I'm getting bored at all of them."

"_All _of them?"

"Yeah"

"Rachel, huh?"

"I don't—" Quinn looked up when she heard a car pullover in front of her home. "That could be the parents", she sighed.

"We're supposed to be in school."

"I'm sick and you're taking care of me.", the artist shrugged. "Come on. Let's go down."

"Hey, your parents don't know I'm here"

"They'll find out now."

Santana chewed her lip. Quinn's parents never really liked her because of—what she could only guess—her ethnicity or background. It's fine because she never liked them, either. Especially Quinn's dad. She doesn't trust guys that look too clean and smooth.

But then again, she doesn't trust men in general.

The Latina sighed in relief. It was Quinn's mom. She was relatively more tolerable. The Latina stood by the stairs silently and waited for Quinn's cue.

"Mom", Quinn walked closer to a beautiful blonde woman, Judy, pulling a luggage and talking to someone on the phone. Turning it off, she smiled at her daughter before kissing her cheek. "How's my baby?"

"Alright", the teenager mumbled with her hands firmly placed inside the pockets of her hoodie. "Where's dad?", she asked before motioning Santana to follow them to the kitchen.

Judy furrowed her brows. "Didn't you read the note I left? We had separate itineraries."

"Oh. Okay. I guess it just slipped my mind"

Separate itineraries. Code for vacation with their lovers.

There are couples who engage into open marriages.

And then there are Quinn's parents who are too damn open; a horde of barbarians can come in without meeting resistance.

"Mom, by the way. Santana's staying with us from now on. I'll fix the guest room."

She wasn't asking permission. Just simply providing information.

And Quinn's mom doesn't have any say on it. Quinn barely says beyond "okay, sure, and yeah" to her parents. A full sentence is a miracle. And when she does, everything is for your information.

Judy glanced at Santana standing behind Quinn. "The guest room is your workshop, honey."

"I'll transfer my stuff to Frannie's room."

The older woman's jaw tensed up. "Quinn, you can't—"

"She's _gone_, mom. She's not coming back. Either you let me move _my _things there, or you let Santana stay in that room. Either way, I'm letting her use Frannie's bed."

Santana chewed her lip nervously; unsure of what's unraveling before her eyes. She wanted to run away, but Quinn took a step behind and touched her arm.

She's not going anywhere.

It was a staring contest between mother and daughter until Quinn spoke again. "I'm sure dad will agree with me on this one. _He's_ been wanting to throw out Frannie's things since forever. Her room's been gathering dust. I'll keep everything in boxes and have them placed in our storage. It's about damn time someone makes that decision."

The battle has been won.

"I—okay", Judy sighed. "It's your choice where she stays."

"Cool", Quinn nodded. "We'll pick a new mattress."

"Yes, okay. Do whatever you need to do", the woman murmured, hoping to dismiss the subject matter as quickly as possible. "I need to go. I'll just change. I have meetings lined up today."

That was it. Judy walked away from the kitchen and Quinn shrugged. "Told you it won't be a problem."

"Quinn, are you sure? I mean Frannie's things."

"Like I said, it was long overdue. I found a reason, and you'll benefit from it. Win-win"

If Santana had a choice, she wouldn't even think of rocking the boat in the Fabray household. But her father's alcohol-induced violent streak has escalated since he lost his job. She wanted to live a little bit longer, and preferably without a parricide record.

She hated the idea of leaving her mother and younger brother behind, but she was more than sure they would be safe. Her dad focuses all his pent-up anger at her. Her mom is the breadwinner, so he wouldn't think of laying a finger on her. Her brother is the favored one, so no need to worry about him as well. He calls Santana a waste of space because she doesn't have a job, but her mom refuses to let her get one. Concentrate on school, graduate with honors, find a scholarship and get out. That was what her mom kept drilling in her head.

She's an obedient daughter to the one who thinks more of her welfare.

"Okay, thanks again."

"S. You really need to stop thanking me. I get more out of it, to be honest."

"Quinn. I love you, you're my best friend, but I really—"

"Not _that_.", Quinn rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean"

Santana grinned. "Not really."

"You really want me to say it"

"Yup"

"Fine", the artist sighed dramatically. "I really like having you around."

"And"

"And I like the idea that I'm able to protect you"

"And"

"And, I love you, too"

"Aww. See? We're making progress", Santana laughed then hugged Quinn. "That's not so difficult, is it? Expressing what you feel through words."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let's go buy a new mattress and everything else you'll need."

It was a quick change. Quinn decided to skip school for a week but insisted that Santana should go back or she might be kicked out of the cheering squad.

She won't be because she's the team's best flyer. But Santana realized Quinn wanted to do it alone. She needed to go inside Frannie's room and be the one to pack her things.

Moving truck?

Thursday morning and the truck was right outside of their complex with men carrying boxes labeled Fabray.

Rachel felt a punch in the gut. She tried not to think about it anymore. She wanted to just erase the memory of confronting Quinn and the things she told the young girl.

Shaking her head, she tried to banish the crazy idea that Quinn was able to convince her family to move houses because the brunette had been rejecting the young artist's attempts to talk to her. She had hoped the girl was not absent from school just to find opportunities to converse with her. But with Quinn's eccentricities, she won't put it past the girl to have that compulsion for doing everything she can to get what she wants. Including dropping out of school.

The brunette barely slept the night before. Arriving from work, she saw Quinn waiting again for her at the curbside and nervously biting her nail. The brunette had a rough time. When a new customer thinks he can buy his way to bed, it's never a good evening.

Wrong girl, sweetheart.

She ended up calling Puck and had him handle the asshole.

She got out of the car and walked past Quinn without as much as a glance.

"Rachel", Quinn breathed out and walked after the brunette. "Rachel"

Don't say a word.

"Rachel"

Damn keys. Where are you?

"Rachel, please don't ignore me anymore."

The brunette froze. That broken voice. God, really? It was like magnet. She had to turn around.

"I'm sorry…I really am. I won't do that again. I swear. Just please talk to me again."

"Quinn, you staying away from drugs is for your own good. I'm not bartering with you."

"But you'll talk to me again, right?"

"I can't—", Rachel sighed. "I don't want to complicate my life, okay? And you're complicated. I'm sorry but I can't be your friend, Quinn"

"You don't even know me to say that."

"I've seen enough."

And that was it. Quinn whispered an apology and a promise never to bother her again, and then left without looking back. She didn't feel the relief she expected, but instead found herself gazing at Quinn's room that was dark and still.

And so early in the morning, she found herself staring at the truck.

"That's about it."

She heard Quinn and turned around. Their eyes met for a split second before Quinn looked down at the box she was carrying and moved past her.

She apparently keeps her promises well.

Rachel stood still and followed the girl's movements. After signing a form, Quinn walked back without throwing a single glance at her.

That hurt.

Maybe she expected Quinn to still be stubborn.

Maybe she had secretly wanted Quinn to ignore her words and just keep trying.

"You've always wanted a sister, that's why", Puck reasoned out when Rachel decided to open up to him. A few days after that encounter, Rachel felt some of her anxiety melting away when it became clear that the girl wasn't moving away. But Quinn's continued indifference towards her presence bothered her completely. This was a foreign problem for the brunette. And as per anything unfamiliar to Rachel, she runs to Puck for advice.

"Maybe", Rachel pouted. "But what I did was wrong"

"You're only protecting yourself, Rachel. And she sounds bad news to me. You did the right thing"

"I didn't have to be that mean to her, though"

"That's not mean. You're being too nice again, that's all"

"You think so?"

"Rachel, she's affecting you in a bad way. You've been so distracted lately. If you want to give in to your guilt, go talk to her and apologize. Just get out of this funk because your dirty old man complained to me last night. And _you_'_ve _never gotten negative feedback before."

"It's not my fault he lost!"

Puck shrugged. "He said you had a sour face all night and even failed to kiss the dice. You ruined his luck. Look, just don't give him anymore reason to complain. And that goes for every patron you have."

Fine. If Quinn is really the source of her itch, then she needs to scratch it.

Saturday morning, she decided to take a day off for the first time in years. Rachel saw Santana early morning wearing her cheering uniform and the Latina gave her a bored wave after smiling gregariously at the younger girl. " g'morning", the Santana mumbled.

"You're up early"

"Practice"

"I see."

Santana unlocked Quinn's vehicle and threw her bag inside. "She's there. You can go right in and talk to her if you want."

"I…uhm", Rachel twisted her lips and wrung her hands together.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Look, she's going stark raving nuts. She won't leave her art room if not for the fact I drag her to school. Whatever it is you told her, take it back." The Latina walked back and opened the door. "Up to you, now. You'll figure out what room she's in. Trust me.", she said before hopping inside the SUV and drove off.

Talk about a persuasive personality. That Santana can sell ice cream to an Eskimo in the middle of winter.

And she's right. Classical music was blasting from the second floor, so that's where Quinn must be. Rachmaninoff. Of course Quinn would be drawn towards his dark and melancholic music. Slowly, she ascended to the where the room was located and knocked gently. The music was too loud and reckoned Quinn might not be able to hear it, so she gingerly turned the knob and opened the door.

Quinn's back was facing her. The teenager was holding a brush while staring at an unfinished mural. Unlike what the artist gave her, this work was dark with black and red as dominant colors. It made her think of her mother's brothel.

Quinn slowly turned around and stared at her for a moment. Before Rachel could speak, the girl turned away and stepped closer to her music player and turned down the volume before heading back to the mural. "Do you need anything?"

"I…came here to apologize for what I've said"

"Which part?"

"Well…I guess everything."

"Okay", Quinn nodded then returned to her work.

Rachel took a step closer. "Quinn, I'm really, really sorry."

"Okay"

The brunette sighed. "That's all I'm going to get from you, huh?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I don't know."

"You've apologized and I've accepted it. Just because you're sorry doesn't mean the things you said weren't true. It's just. You know, it was kind of hurtful."

Rachel took another step closer and held Quinn's wrist, stopping her from her work. "No, can I take back the things I said?"

"Which ones?"

"Everything. Except the drugs part. You really need to stop that."

"I told you I don't do it regularly"

"It starts with that. Recreational. Trust me, Quinn. I've seen enough people say the exact same thing and ended up in deep or dead. And I know you said it doesn't matter if you die, but believe me, it does matter to people around you. I hope you realize Santana depends heavily on you."

Bullseye.

Quinn looked away and breathed deeply. "Yeah, I know"

"So you'll stop. For good?"

"Yeah"

"Promise?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a five year old", Quinn frowned.

"I wasn't. I do need you to promise me that"

"Fine. I promise"

Rachel smiled while Quinn stared at her what she was working on.

"Is it okay if I watch you?"

"Uhm", Quinn blinked, "I don't know. I've never had anyone observe me. Well, except my art teacher."

"Okay", Rachel nodded then smiled again. "I understand."

She was about to walk away when Quinn stopped her. "I'm kind of hungry. Do you want to eat breakfast?"

"Sure. I can make us—"

"I can make us breakfast.", Quinn interjected quickly. "I mean…I can heat up something. And coffee. I can make coffee"

"Coffee sounds good"

Coffee was great. So was the conversation. It was apparent that Quinn's mood turned lighter after toasting some bread. And Rachel realized caffeine makes Quinn talk. A lot.

"So when did you and Santana become friends?"

"Freshman year. I had a crush on her so I made sure we were lab partners."

Rachel's eyebrows rose.

"What?"

"You had a crush on her?"

"Yeah?"

"Like real crush not like girl crush."

"There's a difference?"

"You know what I mean"

"If what you mean is if I'm gay, yes, I am. Do you…have a problem with that?", she asked softly when Rachel showed some form of hesitation.

"Quinn", Rachel gazed at hazel eyes. "I _don't_ have a problem with your sexuality. I just…I feel bad for having to know in this manner. I should have had more tact."

"It's fine", Quinn shrugged. "I'm not hiding it."

The brunette smiled then nodded. "Okay, so you had a crush on Santana. And then?"

"Then, nothing. I asked her out, she said no. We became best friends after that. Not that I still don't try getting in her pants. She _is_ the hottest girl in our school."

"Sounds like you've not gotten over your crush on her", Rachel teased.

"W-ell…", Quinn closed one eye. "I think I'm over it."

"Found someone else?"

"Maybe"

"Lucky girl"

Quinn laughed softly. "I highly doubt she'd consider herself lucky"

"If she doesn't know, you're not giving her a chance to decide on that"

The flirting gods are active today.

Rachel didn't know it but she was doing it.

Quinn saw it but was refusing to acknowledge it.

Her neighbor didn't need complication.

"Trust me, better that she doesn't know."

* * *

A/N: You'll never stop reading notes on how much I appreciate the alerts, favorites and comments. Thank you ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

"How many boyfriends have you had?"

Good question.

Rachel hummed and thought about carefully. "Two", she finally said.

Quinn scrunched her nose and scrutinized the brunette as if she would be able to detect of the older woman was lying. "_Just_ two?"

"What's wrong with two? Two is a good number"

"Yeah but you're 27."

"So?" Rachel was starting to get offended by Quinn's line of questioning.

Yes, she's had two boyfriends.

No, they initially didn't know about her work.

Yes, they broke up with her after finding out.

She tried preempting with the potential third.

Never called back again.

"So, don't you think that's kind of…weird? I mean…"

"You mean…?"

"Uhm, nothing."

"Don't nothing me. Are you expecting me to have said a dozen?"

The younger girl smiled. "No…more like…five."

"Why five?"

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. Sounds reasonable to me. You'd have your first boyfriend in high school. Then maybe a couple in your late teens and early twenties. Then two more."

"You're basically giving me a couple or three year intervals", Rachel laughed. "Don't you have faith in my capacity to sustain a relationship?"

"I don't know you well enough to judge that. I just thought it was a logical thing to say."

"Never had a boyfriend in high school."

"Really? You're just like San."

Rachel nodded in agreement. "Then…I had my first boyfriend when I was nineteen. We broke up a couple of years later. Then my next one was during the first year that I moved here to Nevada."

"And you're not dating right now?"

"You're the observant one. Have you seen any man lurking around my home?"

"None. But you could be the type who's very private."

"True. I am. But, to answer your question. No, I'm not dating anyone right now."

"Why?"

Rachel laughed. "What do you mean, why? I just…I don't want to, right now."

"Okay, acceptable answer, I guess."

"Well…how about you?"

"Never had"

"Well, yeah, I mean. Not boyfriend but girl—"

"Never had", Quinn repeated.

"You've…never been in a relationship?"

"High school girls—regardless of sexuality— are generally stupid and shallow. I can't stand both qualities."

"Aren't you the pompous one."

"I'm not—you think I am?", Quinn frowned. "I just think that…if I'm going to, uh, date someone, I don't want to spend the whole night listening to her talk about shoes."

"Quinn, I was just teasing you.", Rachel smiled. "I think it's a right thing that you're looking for something deeper. But. Just because a girl likes shoes, doesn't mean she won't be capable of thinking beyond that."

The artist shrugged in response.

"So…who was that girl I saw you dragging out of your house?"

"Just some girl from school."

"Uh huh"

"She has a boyfriend. Which, I don't really understand since I'm her booty call"

"You just…let her use you like that?"

"I don't let anyone use me."

"But", Rachel's brows furrowed. "What do you get out of it? I mean, okay, there's sex. But…"

Quinn finally stopped working and turned around to face Rachel resting on Frannie's old mattress. She decided to keep it and stay in her workshop. Good decision.

Quinn also decided to let Rachel watch her work while lying down on it.

_Great_ decision.

"But nothing else.", Quinn said as she sat down next to Rachel. "To be honest, I don't get much out the sex, either."

"So why do it?"

"Because it's there?"

"Huh"

"It's a legitimate reason. Like, why would one eat the marshmallows left in a room? Because it's there."

"Okay. You fail the marshmallow test in epic proportion. "Rachel laughed then shook her head. "Anyway, are you sure it's okay that I watch you work?"

"It's fine. It's not confining as I thought it would be." The artist grinned.

"Good. Cos I had planned to just lounge around the whole day. But this is way better."

"You don't have work today?"

"Oh, I took a day off."

"Where do you work, anyway?"

"Travel and tour agency.", Rachel breathed out. "I…own it with a friend. I take the night shift."

It's not _really_ a complete lie. They _do_ facilitate tour for their customers.

"Oh, cool. I heard they're mostly for Koreans and Chinese these days. They're taking over the world, you know."

Rachel nodded and chuckled. "True. But we still get Europeans…mostly Russians."

"Russia's weird."

"Why?"

"Because it's not really European, but a part of it is. Then a huge chunk of it is closer to Japan and China. That must screw up their minds something good. I'd go crazy if I live in a place that has a million time zones."

"Well, good for you that we only have 9 standard time zones, then."

"Of which, I don't even bother to remember."

"How did we arrive at talking about time zones?", Rachel chuckled. This is a very peculiar conversation she's having.

"Because you have Russian clients."

"Ah. Right. Well, enough about my work. I didn't take the day off just to talk about it."

"Right. Sorry. I was just curious since you moved here."

"Why?"

"Because you work late at night."

"And?", the brunette held her breath.

"And…I thought you'd be…I don't know, like working in a five-star alliance."

Rachel let out that breath in relief. "A five star, huh?"

"Yeah", Quinn stared at her mural and smiled. "But owning a business makes you more amazing."

The brunette cleared her throat, "Yes, well. Anyway, I'm getting hungry. Do you want me to prepare something? We can go to my place and—"

"No, let's just order in."

"Sure, sounds good. But we can't have pizza all day. How about I treat you to dinner later?"

"I need to work on that", Quinn said with a hint of disgust as she pointed to the mural.

"Need?"

"It's commissioned.", the artist sighed before resting her chin on her knees. "I'm actually way past my deadline. You know some people think a wad of dollars can instantly inspire other people to produce something."

"So why take it?"

"Because I need the money?"

"Really?"

"I mean, not _now_. But I will. And exhibit paintings aren't really worth that much on face value. But rich people pay a lot for commissioned ones."

Finally. Something in common.

"I sometimes make ex-deals", the younger girl grinned proudly. "My iPhone, for one."

"You got an iPhone for a painting"

"Yeah, nice, huh?"

"I guess", Rachel chuckled. "I just had no idea it can work that way."

"I let my art teacher pretty much do all the dealings. He owns a gallery." Quinn sighed again. "But sometimes, they just go directly to me. I don't say no because I need to bulk up my portfolio. Once I graduate from high school, I'm sure my parents will kick me out, so I need patrons."

Rachel slightly flinched at Quinn's usage of the word. "You don't plan to go to college?"

"What for? Fallback? I don't think so. I can't imagine myself doing anything else but this."

"How about art school?"

The younger girl smiled cockily. "Do you think I need it?"

Rachel ignored the overconfident expression and tone. "I _don't_ know if you need it. But I would wish for you to consider it."

"Why?"

"Because you have a gift. And you can't just stop there and think you're already good—even though you are—I think…I think that if you have that kind of talent, you need to continue developing. There's always room for improvement. Not everyone's given the opportunity to follow their dreams and be allowed honing it as much as she can. You have it, Quinn. And you owe it to yourself to be the best you can be."

Quinn slowly fixed her eyes on Rachel's that made the older girl nervous and, inexplicably, excited. "Okay", the young artist whispered, "I'll consider it."

"Thanks", Rachel whispered back.

"Hello, can we stop the eye-sexing for an hour or two? I'm famished. Do we have any food besides sliced bread and banana?"

Santana.

You bitch.

Quinn glared at the Latina who just came back from her half-day practice. "We were just about to order pizza"

"Huh. That didn't look like you had any plans of carbo-loading. Unless that's a new code for—"

"I'm ordering. Now.", Quinn interjected then quickly stood up and left the room, leaving Rachel confused at what just occurred.

"So…how's practice?"

"Good.", Santana nodded. "I see you've patched things up."

"Yes, I think", Rachel smiled. "Though I'm not very pleased with how you managed to trick me."

"Excuse me?"

"Stark raving nuts, huh? She's finishing a lag work, thus, she had been cooped up in this room in order to get it done. It had nothing to do with me or what I said."

Santana smirked. "Got the job done. So don't start complaining."

Rachel lolled her head and smirked back. "Yeah, okay. Thank you, then."

"You're welcome."

She didn't leave Quinn's apartment that whole day and fell asleep at the mattress while intently watching the young girl work on the mural. To say that she was mesmerized is an understatement. She supposed that there are more brilliant artists out there than Quinn, but if she was being honest to herself, she wasn't really paying attention to the painting. She was captivated with the girl at work—her movement and the intensity that was palpable—so she just couldn't find the strength to stand up.

"Hey", Quinn murmured. "Rachel…"

"Hmm?", the brunette stirred.

"It's, uhm, 7:30 in the morning."

"W-what?" Rachel rubbed her eyes violently then propped herself using her elbows. "Oh, wow. I didn't realize…"

"I didn't wanna wake you up last night, so I just…uhm….blanket", Quinn scratched the back of her head and blushed, remembering how long she stared at the brunette while she was sleeping.

Rachel looked down and saw the blanket draped on her legs before smiling. "Thanks, that was thoughtful of you."

She thought it was a fluke. She hoped it was.

But there it goes again.

For the nth time since they met.

That moment where Quinn's eyes lock intently at hers and evoked the same response from Rachel. She wanted to propel herself away but those hazel eyes just won't let her.

"Quinn?"

Scoot closer.

"Yeah?"

Tilt head a bit.

"Nothing"

Lean forward. Just a little bit. And—

"Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygod"

"Rachel…"

The brunette tumbled out of the mattress and got up quickly. "Please tell me that didn't just happen?"

"That didn't just happen"

"Quinn!"

"What?", the younger one sighed.

"I kissed you."

"Barely."

"Still. I. Kissed. You. Do you know what that makes me?"

"Rachel, calm do—"

"A cougar! A pedophile cougar!"

"I'm _not_ twelve. God. I'll be 18 in a few months", Quinn rolled her eyes then smirked. "Though, I like that you're not panicking over the fact that we're both girls."

"Oh, trust me", Rachel huffed. "I'll panic about that later. I'm just still on the age gap thing."

The artist's face fell. "You know what? This doesn't make you anything"

"Quinn, we—"

"We did nothing", the younger girl stood up. "_I _ sure didn't do anything. Look, I have somewhere to go. You can let yourself out."

Hold on.

"You're kicking me out?"

"No, I'm respectfully asking you to leave because I have somewhere else to go."

"Okay", Rachel said quietly. "Quinn, I—"

"You're sorry."

"Quinn, I want us to be friends."

"You know. I've been thinking about that since yesterday. Why? I mean, what will you get out of being friends with me? You think I'm complicated. You think I'll mess around with your life. So, why?"

"I told you I didn't mean those things. Truth is, I've liked you since the first time we met. I don't allow myself to openly trust people the way I did with you. I don't really have an answer, because I just don't.", she shrugged. "And I don't know why I did what I just did a moment ago. I'm really sorry for that. I feel like I'm such an ass. Just because I know you're gay, I took advantage of that and—"

"Okay"

"Uhm, what?"

"I said, okay."

"Can we move on from what happened?"

"Yeah, sure."

But there wasn't moving on. At least on Rachel's end. She was haunted by her own actions, and she was hurt by Quinn's eagerness to appease her by forgetting what happened.

As the next few days—and then a few weeks— went by, she noticed that Quinn had shifted to simply being courteous beneath the veil of continued routine. She would say hi to Rachel in the morning, and if they happen to see each other at night, stop and talk awhile. Rachel was never invited back in and Quinn always had declined—with a smile that never reached hazel eyes—when she tried coaxing the younger girl inside for a coffee. Not even her damn cigarettes were effective lure anymore.

Do you know what a vortex is? That's Quinn.

Rachel feels as if she is swirling around in a speed that she can't keep up with towards the center.

It was her fault.

She was the one who kissed Quinn.

The girl didn't do anything. Well, Rachel didn't give her a chance to do anything.

"I hate my life", she groaned after banging her forehead against the desk.

"Because you want to fuck a seventeen year old? Newsflash, Rachel. You're not the first, and you won't be the last.", Puck shook his head in amusement and patted the brunette's shoulder. "People rarely go to jail for this sort of thing."

"You're not even surprised that she's a she."

"_She_ is hot.", Puck chuckled while scrolling Quinn's profile page again. "I bet she has an X-men-like ability to turn every girl gay. One touch. Bam!"

"You are not helping!"

"Well, what do you want me to say?", Puck laughed loudly. "It's been a _long_ time since you got laid, Rachel. It's about time you loosen up and have fun."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at Puck. "This isn't about having a good fuck!"

His laugh continued but slowly died down. "You're…are you saying you're _in love_ with her?"

"No, of course not. I barely know her. But I…", she rested her forehead on her arm, "I'm really, _really_ attracted to her in every way."

"Jesus, you _are _gay."

"_Noah_"

"Okay, sorry. Not helping."

"This is pathetic."

"Why?"

"Because I'm playing cat and mouse with a kid!"

"I think. You need to get over the fact that she's seventeen because I don't think that is what really bothers you."

"Okay, Freud, analyze me."

"There's nothing much to analyze, Rach. You've been burned before and you don't want a repeat. It gets worse because I've never heard you admit to being really attracted to someone", he shrugged. "And for such a short period of time. I'd be scared, too, if I were in your situation. And well, yes, there's that age and gender thing."

"So basically, you're saying I'm screwed."

Puck pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah, basically. Is she aware of what you do?"

The brunette shook her head then sobbed theatrically.

_I do it because it's there_.

That's the first thing that came to her mind when she saw Quinn pinned against a car, being molested by that blonde bitch slash schoolmate.

While Quinn was showing little resistance, she could see the girl's bored expression.

At least Rachel convinced herself it was boredom.

And maybe, annoyance. There has to be some form of annoyance.

Quinn immediately untangled herself from the blonde. "H-hey, Rachel", she smiled widely and took a step closer.

"Hey", Rachel nodded somberly in return and quickly walked inside.

Well.

I guess that spared her from further humiliation.

Temporary state of insanity. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Quinn was at her door early morning.

"Don't you have school?"

"I do."

"So why are you here?"

"I feel like I owe you an apology for what you saw last night."

Rachel smiled. "Quinn, you don't owe me an apology for that."

"But…just know that she showed up and I didn't want her to go inside and so she tried to coax me, but I—"

"Quinn, really, you don't have to explain. We're just friends."

"Friends who are attracted to each other"

"I'm not…Quinn, last time was a mistake. A lapse of judgment."

The artist was exasperated and it showed. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"_You_ kissed me, Rachel."

"I thought we're over that—"

"I'm _not. _Okay? I'm not. I _like_ you. I'm _attracted _to you. And don't you goddamn deny that you aren't attracted to me. You don't spend one whole day—your own day off from work—to stare at my ass while I'm painting and say you're not attracted to me. Because that's bullshit."

Rachel's eyes widened.

Oh, Mary Magdalene.

Busted.

"I…I'm…"

"And then, you go and kiss _me_. You had the gall to kiss me then act like I'm some form of virus that you needed to get away from?"

"No, that was a—"

"And don't you think I don't notice how you've been trying to be really nice and sweet to me lately. You can't do that. You can't look cute and just—what the fuck kind of games are you playing, Rachel? Because it's screwing me up!"

It took them a moment to realize that the guards and some of their neighbors have been watching the drama unfold. "Uh, Quinn", Rachel whispered and looked up.

Quinn turned around and glared at all of them. "What? Mind your own fucking business and—ow! Stop dragging me!"

Rachel closed the door, pushed Quinn against it and pointed a finger at the artist. "Stop making a spectacle of us!"

"Then stop making me a fool!"

"Stop throwing a tantrum! God, you sound like a petulant brat!"

"_You_ want this petulant brat!"

"I do! Okay? Happy?"

Quinn leaned against the door and stared at Rachel.

"What, now you have nothing to say?", the brunette frowned.

"So, uhm"

Rachel rolled her eyes and huffed. "You got me admitting that I'm attracted to you, Quinn. You got what you want."

"I, uhm, so…"

"So?"

"So, what now?"

"Nothing"

"What do you mean nothing?"

"We're not going to do anything about this attraction because you and I both know this isn't going to work."

"What? Why not? Don't say it's the age gap because Ellen and Portia.", Quinn said smugly with her head held high and arms crossed.

The brunette had to bite her inner cheek to stop herself from laughing. "Quinn", she closed her eyes and swallowed. "Ellen didn't start dating Portia when she was seventeen. Granted that there's a gap bigger than ours, Portia was a lot older and more mature than you when they met."

"Why are you punishing me for what I can't control or change?"

"I'm not—", Rachel rubbed her forehead and sighed.

"You're the complicated one, Rachel", Quinn mumbled in defeat then shrugged. "Just…whatever. Let me know when you've made up your mind.

That was a white flag waving right in front of Rachel.

Is it really over?

Did she want the girl to give up?

No, hell, no.

Two steps closer.

Hold her wrist and remove her hand from the doorknob.

Cup her cheeks and force her to look at you.

She could right an Idiot's Guide to Escorting.

But she had no idea what she was doing right now. Her hands were cold against Quinn's warm face. And those sad eyes. God, how she wanted to see them brighten up.

Breathe deeply.

Ugh. This is the second time she's going to kiss Quinn without brushing her teeth first. That's not a good thing.

But Quinn didn't seem to mind. At all. Because Rachel's knees almost buckled upon feeling the younger girl's tongue explore hers in a licking motion before lightly sucking it.

Rachel was the first to pull away. "Slow…okay? We'll take things slow."

How slow? She was clueless. It would be hard when Quinn turns out to be a good kisser.

"Okay", the younger girl said with a lopsided smile.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"School"

"Hmm?"

"You were supposed to go to school?"

"Santana left me already."

"What?", Rachel casted the curtain aside from the window and looked for Quinn's car. "Why would she do that?"

"Because I told her if I don't come back in fifteen minutes, she should leave without me."

The brunette looked up and mumbled incoherently. "I'll drive you to school."

"You will?"

"Yeah, just give me fifteen minutes to at least look decent."

The artist volunteered to drive on the way to school. Upon pulling over, Rachel went around the car to get to the driver's side but was blindsided by Quinn's kiss.

It was almost a photo finished arrival where half of the school population was about to get inside. Rachel realized it was the perfect opportunity for a teenager to brag about her much older girlfriend. She should have known.

There were hoots and whistles and a few words of encouragement for one proud Quinn Fabray.

"See, Portia would never do such a childish thing", Rachel mumbled breathlessly before removing some smudged lipstick on the corner of Quinn's lips.

It was worth it though because it was the first time Rachel saw the younger girl smile like nothing mattered. "I'll see you tonight?"

"I have work"

"Oh, that's right."

"How about…I make you breakfast tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sounds good", the artist grinned.

"Make sure you get your car keys from Santana. I don't plan to be your chauffer every day."

"I was the one who drove here."

"You know what I mean."

"I promise. Does the breakfast invitation extend to her, though?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No. We're a package deal."

"Thought so."

The Rachel Berry home for the troubled teenagers officially opened. Santana was the first to arrive bearing gifts. More specifically, milk. "My mom always told me not to arrive empty handed"

Then Quinn.

"Would you look at that?", Rachel giggled.

Santana's mouth gaped with her eyes wide open. "Holy shit, Quinn. You look clean!"

"Hey! I take a shower every day.", the artist scowled.

"Yeah, but look at your hair. It's combed."

"Shut up. Don't touch it" Quinn dodged Santana's hand and sat next to Rachel. "g'morning, babe", she said with a grin then leaned forward with puckered lips that were met with the older woman's palm.

"Do _not_ call me babe."

"Sweetheart?"

"No"

"Lambchops?"

"Definitely not!"

"But you're my girlfriend"

"So?"

"So, that gives me the right to choose a term of endearment."

"God, you're grossing me out, Q", Santana groaned then picked up her bowl of cereal. "I'll go watch TV while you negotiate about this."

"Quinn", Rachel stated patiently. "I'm not really comfortable with terms of endearment."

Clients _love_ that.

"So…just Rachel and Quinn.", the artist nodded.

"Yes. Now that we've agreed on that, you can proceed on kissi—mmpf"

Quinn and her lips and tongue, Rachel's favorite combination as of the moment.

"By the way", Rachel whispered against the younger girl's lips. "You've made quite a huge assumption earlier."

"Huh?"

"That I'm your girlfriend"

"You are"

"Says who?"

"Uhm…me?" Quinn furrowed her brows then opened her mouth and nodded. "Oh…yeah. Uh, well this is awkward."

"How is it awkward?"

"I've never really…you know."

The brunette sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Okay, okay. Geez. I don't get the need for formality. But okay." The artist kissed a trail from the brunette's jaw to her ear then whispered, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"No"

"What the hell?"

Rachel tapped the tip of Quinn's nose. "Temper. You can't ask a girl to be her girlfriend when you've not even taken her out on a date."

It was like Pygmalion.

There was a lot to learn and mold.

Or maybe it was closer to training a lion.

This is the caveat of dating a much younger person, Puck told her. You expect a lot but there's very little she can give.

You need to strike a delicate balance between compromising without lowering your standards.

Not that Rachel had high standards to begin with. But Quinn can test one's patience without knowing it. She can be abrasive and has a naturally acerbic tongue. While she's not socially inept, she has a general disdain towards social interactions and people in general. There's very little motivation for the younger girl to be congenial when she is used to being judged for her work and not her personality.

Art, has in fact, been a strong justification for her to be rude.

They need to work on that.

What Quinn didn't need to work on was her ability to charm her way into kissing Rachel.

Rachel never really found punk fashion attractive. But the brunette realized that she can ignore all those things because Quinn was just plain gorgeous regardless of her make-up or attire. Little by little, she wasn't just getting used to the artist's atypical style; she's beginning to like her girlfriend's fashion sense.

Girlfriend.

Dear god. What would her mother tell her if she was alive?

Getting condemned for it was out of the question, of course. But Rachel was sure her late mother would have attributed this to her trauma with men and their behavior towards the prostitutes.

She found herself almost hyperventilating when the shock of being with another woman jolts her every now and then. She's not a woman of pure virtue, but that didn't mean she was open to everything.

But then again. Who would care?

There was very little consideration on her end. She has no family, no religion, and no community.

But Quinn has. At least a family.

"Quinn? Can I ask you something?"

"Mhm" Quinn hummed appreciatively while the brunette combed through her hair and tried to put them all up.

Her pink hair reminds Rachel of those cute troll keychains that were popular in 90s.

Her very pretty troll girlfriend.

"Where are your parents? I don't see them at all."

"They drop by twice a week to check on me. But now that Santana's with me, they do it once a week."

"Drop by?"

"We have a house in the suburbs."

"Oh", Rachel frowned. "Not that I want you there, but why aren't you?"

"Because they don't want to deal with me. Which is fine, because I don't want to deal with them, too"

"Okay…"

"It was my sister's idea, for her to move here. It's closer to UNLV. And after awhile, I decided to tag along. We used to be close even though she was eight years older than me."

"Was…"

"She, uhm, she died."

"Oh", Rachel breathed deeply.

"I found her."

"You…found her?"

"Yeah, she killed herself. She was suffering from depression but", Quinn shrugged, "how was I suppose to know that? There were apparently signs already since high school, but no one really saw."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen"

Quinn felt Rachel's arm tighten around her. "It's fine. It wasn't gruesome or anything. She took pills."

"Still. You shouldn't have seen that."

"Yeah, I guess. But anyway, there. That's the story. My parents—my mom specifically—she's still in denial. And my dad, I don't think he ever stopped grieving. Frannie was the golden child. I was the weird one. So we live in this very peaceful arrangement where they provide the minimum parental requirements."

When she thought of Camila or her mother, Rachel could still feel her body tremble ever so slightly.

Quinn was devoid of emotions. Robotic. A far cry from the girl who made a scene because of the brunette's indecisiveness.

Her pretty girlfriend with an emotional on and off switch.

This won't be easy.

**A/N: Comments, reviews? Drop me a line, lovely people ^_^**


	5. Chapter 5

"Nothing. There's nothing about her on the internet."

Santana looked absolutely stunned. "You're investigating Rachel on the internet?"

"I'm _not_ investigating. I'm just curious.", Quinn sighed heavily as she scrolled the Google search page up and down. "I don't get it. How can anyone not be on the internet these days?"

"Then consider yourself lucky. At least you know she's not a wanted psychopath or a member of some gang in New York."

Quinn snorted. "Rachel is anything _but_ ghetto."

"How sure are you?"

Quinn glared at Santana as if the Latina had grown a second head. "Are you kidding me? You see how elegant she is? No one comes from the ghetto and be _that_ refined. She's so…sophisticated", Quinn gushed. "Not even JLo can hide her 'hood background with designer clothes"

"So, what seems to be amiss then?"

"Nothing. Like I said, I'm just curious."

"Sure. Quinn, you don't bother to go online unless when it's extremely necessary. What's wrong?"

Quinn twisted her lips then settled for a pout. "She's so evasive when I ask about her life in New York. And I just…I want to know her. Like, was she popular in high school or I don't know, what made her go to Las Vegas."

"You've been going out for what? Just almost two months? Maybe she's not _yet_ that comfortable talking about her past. Some people are just like that, Q."

"But I trust her.", Quinn frowned. "I told her about Frannie and last summer's valium fiasco."

"I don't think she doesn't trust you, Quinn", Santana sighed. "Maybe something very painful happened, or she didn't have a happy childhood. And she's just not ready to talk. If she doesn't trust you, she wouldn't let you in her life just like that. Does it even matter to you what she was like before?"

"When did you become her champion?"

"Since she's been feeding me non-stop. Have _you_ tried her lasagna?"

"No. You know I hate pasta. And no, it doesn't matter, I guess. But I'm kinda stumped on what to give her for Christmas.

"You're agnostic"

"So? Don't tell me only the Catholics celebrate St. Patrick's Day. It's not an exclusive holiday."

"You are _so_ in love, it's not funny anymore", Santana grinned, betraying her own statement.

"Shhh. Keep your comments to yourself and just help me think of what to give her."

It's not easy to think of a gift for someone you barely know. Everyone knows that. It's harder when the person is more closed than Quinn herself. The fact that they've only been dating for a short period of time makes it even more difficult.

Because, the reality is –of which Quinn tries hard to ignore—they've barely spent time together. They see each other in the morning and while ideally, Quinn could rush home and spend an hour or two with Rachel after school, but she has to wait for Santana's cheer practices to end. She's not about to ditch her best friend just so she can have her make-out time with Rachel.

Well…she's been tempted. But her sense of loyalty to Santana is strong.

By the time they get home, Rachel's on her way to work.

Quinn tried waiting for Rachel at night, however, she had been reprimanded by the brunette for staying up late.

She's ignoring the fact that Rachel doesn't even reply to her messages when working.

She's trying hard not to complain about the lack of physical intimacy.

She was getting antsy and it showed in her paintings.

Two months. It would be a miracle if she survives another month without exploding from sexual frustration.

But whatever. Her girl's an independent woman. She needs to suck it and feel lucky enough that Rachel _is_ her girlfriend.

"Quinn, don't even think of marking me. I swear"

Oh. Well. Weekends are good. She's got Rachel until late afternoon.

Quinn flicked her tongue. "But your neck…so inviting"

Rachel forced the artist to kiss her lips. "I'm off to work in an hour and it'll be a pain if people see that"

"So, cover it with make-up", the younger girl grumbled while her hands groped everywhere at the brunette's body.

"I—okay, fine", Rachel acquiesced then pointed vaguely at her neck.

She closed her eyes at the feel of Quinn's lips, teeth and tongue create a work of art on her neck, and slowly guided the artist's hand to her chest, letting the young girl explore her further without being naked.

It's not that she's still getting used to another female, it's just, she's getting used to being with someone again in general. It's been a long time, so the sensation of being touched in ways Quinn had been doing challenges her self-control. She wanted to give herself fully, but the fear of losing everything hinders her from allowing Quinn to possess her in every way possible.

She felt a bit guilty. Throwing the younger girl a bone when she could have a steak. And the worst part is Quinn hasn't complained. Not directly, anyway.

"I want you, Rach"

The brunette opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Rach. That was new.

So are Quinn's hips grinding at her at a painfully slow motion.

She intended to stop the younger girl's movement, but instead, found her hand feel around Quinn's rear.

That moan she elicited from Quinn semi-broke her resolve. That was by far, _the _sexiest thing she's ever heard in her entire life. It was soft, natural and muffled; as if the younger girl was scared that it would make Rachel stop.

It didn't.

It made Rachel want to hear it again.

And again.

And again.

Instinctively, she shifted her leg in between Quinn's thighs, slightly folded her knee and pulled the artist closer for encouragement.

Well, Quinn is young and very impressionable; eager to please.

There wasn't much cajoling needed.

Though there was a clear miscommunication between the two lovers.

Rachel was thinking of something more juvenile like dry humping.

But Quinn had another thing in mind.

Unlike earlier, the artist's hand found a clear southbound destination.

"Quinn", Rachel warned lightly.

"Please?", the artist whispered. "Just…let me make you feel good. This is still slow."

Rachel chuckled. "Quinn…", Brown eyes met hazel, and Rachel slowly broke into a smile. "Yeah, okay. Still slow."

"Yeah", the artist grinned.

But phone.

Yup. It's that goddamn phone that never stops ringing or buzzing when they're together.

Puck, Rachel says.

Puck, her good friend.

Puck, her goddamn business partner.

Quinn knew the drill. She would usually just be patient about it but she was so turned on that she became snappish.

"Quinn", Rachel implored after talking to Puck. "I'm so sorry"

"Sure, no problem", the artist huffed before picking up her jacket.

"Where are you going?"

"Out"

"Quinn, don't be like this"

"Like what? You have work. What am I supposed to do on a Saturday night?"

"To be honest, I worry when you're out."

The younger girl rolled her eyes. "You don't trust me. I told you I will stop with recreational drugs, and I have."

"Where are you going, then?"

"I don't know yet"

"Who would be with you?"

"I don't know yet"

"Why are you acting up?", Rachel stood up and squared off with Quinn.

"I'm not"

"Quinn", Rachel sighed. "You knew my schedule way before we started dating."

"Yeah", the younger girl mumbled as she let the brunette pull her into a hug. "Can I go with you?"

"Go where? Work?"

Rachel felt as if an anvil fell over her chest.

"Yeah", the artist smiled. "I've nothing better to do and you'll keep me out of trouble."

Rachel shook her head. "You'll be bored to death"

"I won't, I promise. I'll even help you with…whatever. Messenger, or I'll photocopy stuff, maybe make you coffee. Please?"

"Quinn, honey, I can't.", Rachel said while fixing Quinn's hair. That seemed to always sooth the young girl.

But not this time.

"Okay", the artist mumbled again before pulling away from the brunette.

"Don't", Rachel pleaded and pulled Quinn back.

"Why can't you get the dayshift?"

"Quinn...look, I promise…I'll take the day off tomorrow, okay?"

"Really? Does that mean I can take you out?"

"The whole day and night, if you want"

The corner of Quinn's lips quirked upwards. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"No"

"No?"

"I'll see you later", Rachel whispered pulling Quinn for a heated kiss.

That was a statement that made the artist let go of all her grievances temporarily. It was a promise of spending the night together. A first of, hopefully, many.

Rachel left with a heavy heart and filled with dread. Months after, she would be able to pinpoint to this exact moment when she had a chance to come clean as early as possible. To cut her losses early on or to have salvaged their relationship.

This was the exact moment when she tried to turn her lies into truth and hoped that Quinn would never find out.

She was naïve that way.

"What do you mean put up a travel agency? Rachel, are you insane? We know nothing about that. Plus, you're supposed to retire, remember?"

"Well…what if I don't retire? What if I run that with you?"

Puck scratched his head and hunched over. "Where the heck is this coming from?"

"Uhm—"

"Wait. No, don't answer that. I know. Quinn."

"I can't let her know, Puck", the brunette sighed and closed her eyes. "I don't want to shatter her idea of who I am. She's an emotional wreck. You need to understand that."

"Out of the millions of people in Vegas, Rachel, you had to choose a basket case to fall in love with."

"She's _not_ a basket case! It's not her fault her family's screwed up."

"_You_ have a more screwed up past, Rachel."

"No, my environment was screwed up. But my mother loved me, okay? I didn't grow up navigating life on my own. I was actually loved and cared for. Quinn's not like that."

"So, now, you have Jesus complex?"

"She doesn't _need_ saving. But she needs a guide."

"And you plan to be that guide"

"Look, I just—I thought you could help me."

Puck groaned. "Rachel, you know I would gladly give the shirt off my back for you. But you, hiding who you are from Quinn? That's not going to help anyone"

"She has a lot of questions in her mind. I know that already. I can see it. I just, give me something to delay the inevitable."

"What's inevitable?"

"That she'll leave me the moment she finds out."

"Maybe she isn't like that."

"I've said that thrice in my life, Puck. What makes you think this time it will be different?"

"Rachel", Puck sighed.

"I really like her, Puck", Rachel smiled sadly. "I just want to prolong this happiness I feel when I'm with her."

Puck exhaled loudly and studied Rachel. "_Besides_ putting up a dummy company, do you have an alternative idea?"

"I was thinking a few days off per week?"

"You've _got_ to be kidding me, Rachel"

"Look, I _need_ something to placate Quinn's demand to spend more time with me. A few days per week won't affect my plans that much. I will still have my target savings, give or take a few months delay. And you can't say you're going to lose money, because look at the girls lined up to get a job in your company."

"Damn it, Rachel. This is why love's a bitch."

"So that's a yes?"

"Yeah, fine. Not like I have a choice, really. _But_. Christmas and New Year's Eve, Rachel. You're mine. That's a bucket load of money, and you know that."

Rachel's eyes widened. "Puck, no. That would kill—"

"Rachel, I hate to do this because you're my best friend. But either you agree to that or I'll let go of you now. Truth is, I've been fending off complaints. You've been too stand-offish even to your oldest clients. You visibly cringe when they touch you. That's not good, Rachel. And the _only_ reason why they still get you is because you are _still_ the most likeable."

"You can't do that! I just signed the property I bought in Hawaii!"

"I thought you're gonna go to Barbados?"

"Too foreign for me", Rachel pouted.

Puck sighed and held Rachel's hand. "I'm sorry, Rachel. But I need to make a business decision."

Of course. It all boils down to money.

Because almost everything in this life has a price tag.

"Right. Okay. Christmas and New Year"

"Great. So when are your off days?"

"Fridays to Sundays. Starting tomorrow."

"Geez. You have a schedule tomorrow, Rachel."

"Replace me with that newbie, Bianca."

"Bianca? Are you kidding? The girl doesn't know her north from south!"

"Then, why did you take her in?"

Because Puck's sleeping with her.

"Okay, fine. Bianca."

Rachel grinned widely and hugged Puck. "Thank you, thank you"

"Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here and make me some money before I change my mind."

It was a stop gap measure. But it was better than nothing.

She was playing with fire but she didn't know of any other games.

To hell with being distracted. She had every right to be tonight. She promised something heavy to Quinn and she will fulfill it. Because Rachel wanted it badly.

And Quinn not only wanted it as badly. But she wanted it to be special.

She had lost her virginity when she was fourteen to a senior cheerleader. The older girl liked Quinn and pursued her. But not enough to come out in the open.

She could have been Quinn's first love.

In the end, most people—even in the most liberal of places—would still feel fear of what they don't know or can't understand. After that, Quinn avoided being attached to anyone. Until Rachel.

She is definitely Quinn's first love.

And so she wanted it to be special.

The artist, however, almost burned the house down when she attempted to make molten chocolate cakes—her favorite food—straight out of a recipe guide without any prior experience in baking. Santana was able to rescue her by making a more simple deep chocolate pudding.

Chocolate as the obligatory aphrodisiac food. Check.

Her dad's expensive Champagne. Check.

A two-hour bath. Check.

Is it time?

Definitely.

She waited patiently and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Rachel's car. This is it.

Rachel stepped out and took some time to shake off her nerves. It was on her way back that she realized two very important things:

Quinn most likely has more sexual experience than her.

And, unlike Quinn, she's never had sex with a woman.

In her mind it shouldn't make that much difference. But as a force of habit, anything unknown to her, she would ask Puck or look for it in books. That's how she has survived. But because of the spontaneity of her decision to take her relationship with Quinn to the next level, she had no prep time whatsoever.

Rachel knew Quinn expected a lot from her. She dreaded the girl's disappointed face if she turns out to suck in lesbian sex.

Time to pull out the big guns. Naomi, the top prostitute. What the hell did that old hag tell her before? When you've got them moaning your name at every touch, you know you're doing it right. Or something to that effect.

It's all about exploring.

Marco Polo, she will be.

She let Quinn take the lead and studied the girl's behavior. The artist wasn't aggressive but—as she had guessed correctly—very confident of her actions. Quinn was hyperaware of the places to lick, nip and suck. She was an expert in oral sex and had Rachel reach orgasm almost immediately.

Yes, Quinn was meticulous, but she aimed straight for the jugular.

It's time to teach her young girlfriend the art of teasing.

Second round would have to wait. Quinn brought sparkling wine and food. Rachel would have hated that to go to waste.

The combination of the chilled liquid slowly being poured on her skin and Rachel's warm tongue licking it off the valley between her breasts was enough for Quinn to erupt. And just when she believed she had died and went straight to heaven, she felt something else that was warm.

Quinn's breath hitched and her body shook at the anticipation of what Rachel was doing to her body.

Thank you God, almighty for Santana's chocolate pudding.

The brunette was creating patterns, imitating Quinn's strokes from her mural, using the chocolate. From her breasts down to her abdomen all the way to her inner thighs.

It was as if she had a lock-jaw. She couldn't close her mouth until she felt her lips dry and needed to be wetted. Quinn was gasping for air at every swirl of Rachel's fingers.

No drug has ever given her this kind of high.

No painting has ever spoken to her this way.

She was torn between pleading for Rachel to take her and basking in the moment that her whole body had become a work of art.

She moaned at the first licks. The sounds gradated at each taste until everything became primal.

There was nothing else to be said in the end except a silent declaration of love.

Quinn didn't care if she was going too fast.

"I love you, Rach", she mumbled.

"You do?"

"Yeah", Quinn smiled lazily.

"That's not the wine talking?"

"No", the artist chuckled.

"That's not because I just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm?"

"That may be a factor"

Rachel smiled adoringly at Quinn and kissed her softly.

"You don't have to say it back", the younger girl whispered but gazed at Rachel expectantly, betraying her words. "I just…I wanted you to know. I love you."

She didn't have to say it back.

And so she didn't.

But she showed Quinn how much she loved her, and was determined to show it until that is taken away from her.

She heard a song years ago from some Irish pub she went to for a few drinks. Nothing could be more appropriate than this moment. Than Quinn.

She was her borrowed heaven.

**A/N: This update is shorter than the past few chapters, because this acts as a transition. A lot of changes in their relationship. I don't know if that's a good thing, lol. Also, the next update may come at a much later day this week so I can make it longer (and better). Things are heating up so this needs to be really well thought-out. **

**A/N 2: Some people have rightly pointed out that there is a need to maybe have a line that separates "scenes" or changes in settings. I sincerely understand that. However, I have been trying since the first reviewer that suggested it, but it feels awkward for me based on this style of writing. So please, please, forgive me for being stubborn. **

**A/N3: Just for a final clarificatory note, we started with the confrontation between Rachel and Quinn about Rachel's profession. But all of these, so far, were past events leading to that moment. **

**Once again, thank you for alerts, favorites and reviews. You guys are generous for giving this story a chance. Thank you!**


	6. Chapter 6

Quinn opened her eyes and tried to orient herself to a different environment. She's in Rachel's room. She closed her eyes again and desperately tried to replay in her mind everything that happened the night before.

She felt the brunette stir at her side then draped her arm around Quinn's torso. The feeling of being beside someone had woken Rachel up. She's not used to this; but it's certainly an adjustment she doesn't mind making.

"Hey, you", the artist murmured when Rachel fought to open her eyes. "Good morning"

"Good morning", the brunette half-smiled. "What time is it?"

"It's, uh,", Quinn reached for her phone and checked, "7:30"

"Mfff", the brunette grunted then swung her leg around Quinn's before burrowing her face on the artist's shoulder. "Tired"

"Got you tired, huh?"

"Wipe that smirk off your face"

"You're not even looking"

"I can hear it in your voice"

"Wow"

"Yeah. But hmm, need to get up now."

"But why?" Quinn wrapped her arm and leg around Rachel until they were entwined together.

"Cats", the brunette breathed out.

The artist tightened her hold. "The cats can take care of themselves for a day"

"Quinn…what are you doing?", Rachel held a chuckle when she felt slender fingers scampering to reach a particular spot.

"Trying for a repeat performance"

"You're insatiable"

"You're irresistible"

"Charmer"

"Does it work?"

"Most of the time"

"Like now?"

She was putty in Quinn's hands but the last thing she wanted was for the self-assured girl to know that. "Yes. But _we_ are getting up."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want us to be stuck here all day."

"What's the point of a day off if—mmph"

Rachel covered Quinn's lips with the palm of her hand. "The point is that we get to spend time and do things together. You did ask if you can take me out"

Quinn nodded then licked the brunette's hand.

"Quinn!", Rachel laughed and tried to remove her hand but the artist had a death grip on her wrist. "You're gross!" She squealed and squirmed while Quinn continued to flick her tongue. Rachel's laughter slowly died down and ended with a huge smile while staring at the artist's eyes that was full of mirth.

That was a first.

"I love your eyes", the brunette said breathlessly. She combed through Quinn's hair using her fingers as soon as Quinn let go of her hand. "Why pink?"

"Because it's not usual"

"So why not green?"

"Because I don't wanna look like a grasshead—you don't like it?"

"I do, actually", Rachel said in all honesty.

An eyebrow rose involuntarily. "Really? You're not bothered by it."

"Can't say I was immediately enamored by it. But. It did grow on me, though. And you are beautiful. This", the brunette cupped Quinn's chin, "this face is gorgeous, so any color, any hairstyle will fit you."

"So if I shave my head…"

"I'd rather you won't."

"I thought you said anything will suit me."

"Yes, but I like touching your hair."

"I've noticed"

"You don't mind, do you?"

"I like it"

"So, don't shave your head. I like that I have something to hold on to when you're down there"

Quinn's mouth opened and formed an "o" and nodded in understanding. "Roger, that"

"And speaking of…I can't imagine you as blonde"

Quinn frowned. "How did you—oh. Heh" The artist's face flushed when Rachel traced her eyebrows then looked down and waggled her own brows.

The brunette chuckled at the touch of pink on the other girl's cheek. "Aww, now your cheeks match your hair."

"Shut up", Quinn chuckled before ducking her head and kissing Rachel's neck. "I love you"

The brunette closed her eyes and swallowed her words.

Why is it so hard to say it back?

Because it is.

"Thank you", Rachel mumbled.

To the inexperienced, a word of advice. When your partner says "it's okay not to say it back". It usually means it's _not_ okay not to say it back.

Saying "I love you" isn't done out of sheer politeness.

Telling someone you love them actually borders on being rude. You don't ask permission to say it. You don't go, "excuse me, I hope you don't mind. Can I tell you I love you?"

No.

Just no.

Philosophers have spent all their lives analyzing, dissecting, creating taxonomies on forms of love.

And they say Eros is the selfish form of love.

Because it is all about self-benefit. Of being with someone because they make you feel good. Of saying I love you because they make you feel happy.

So, not hearing them say those words back _does_ hurt.

And saying "thank you", hurts more.

Because you would rather that the other person says nothing, than to be polite.

Quinn forced a smile. "I'm hungry."

"There's a diner a few blocks away. Want to eat there?"

"Okay, sounds good."

"Then, you'll bring me to…wherever. Let me get to know Vegas through Quinn Fabray's eyes."

"Seriously? You've been here for some time now."

Rachel pointed to herself. "Work"

"Geez. You live a boring life, huh?"

"Not anymore"

Maybe boring is good. At least Rachel didn't have to deal with hormonal non-girlfriends.

The moment they stepped inside the diner, a bunch of cheerleader-types stared at them. "Perfect", Quinn mumbled with a slight frown as they sat down in the only available booth, which happened to be next to those girls.

"Hey, Quinn", blonde number 1 said in a very flirty manner.

"Hey", the artist said with the menu covering her face.

Blonde number 2 turned around completely, kneeling on the seat and propping her chin on her hand. "So, what we heard was correct. You _do_ have a _way_ older girlfriend."

"And it's your business, because?", the artist bit back.

"Well…_people_ go to jail for _that_"

"16 is the age of consent in Nevada, you moron", Quinn growled then turned to face Rachel who was half-amused and half-annoyed at the exchange. "I checked", she shrugged.

"Hey, come on, leave them alone.", Brunette number 1 mumbled. "She'll tell Santana about this and _then_ we'll be in trouble."

Ah. So they are cheerleaders.

"Q won't get us in trouble", Blonde number 1 said haughtily.

"Don't call me that", the young artist with gritted teeth but visibly relaxed after Rachel rubbed her thigh.

"Why? We _all_ used to call you that. You know, when you were still sky splitting your way to regionals."

Rachel's eyes widened and opened her mouth.

"Are you guys planning to aggravate me all morning?",Quinn whispered then sighed in exasperation.

Brunette number 1 stepped in. "Quinn, I'm sorry. We were _just _about to go". Glaring at her friends, the girl then glanced at Rachel apologetically before leaving some money at the table. The other two followed immediately, albeit begrudgingly.

"I think I'll have waffles. What do you want?"

Rachel stared at Quinn. "Uhm, French toast"

"Great"

The older woman continued to stare at the artist until Quinn gave up her attempts to avoid discussion. "You can ask me about it, I guess."

"You were a cheerleader?"

"Freshman year"

"Why did you stop?"

"Because I didn't like hiding who I am. The head cheerleader was my girlfriend, or close to it. _She_ was the one who recruited me, pursued me, and made me realize I'm gay in the first place. But she panicked when I came out to the team. She thought I was gonna drag her down. So she convinced our coach that time—a homophobic bitch—to kick me out of the team because _some_ of the members were not comfortable with me anymore."

"Those girls didn't look uncomfortable with your sexuality"

"They're not. We used to be really close friends. I was the one who isolated myself after because I was angry at all of them for not standing up for me. It was only Santana who filed a formal protest. That coach was replaced when the administration found out. But I didn't want to go back anymore. It's not worth going back to something when they've broken my trust. That's why they're being a bitch to me. Because I decided they're not worth my time. They actually have the gall to feel as if I abandoned them."

Rachel looked down and played with the ear of the menu. "You need to…you should think of forgiving them. They must have been so scared of losing everything."

"I can't when Santana had all the excuses in the world to not risk her spot in the team. She's the one who needed it the most."

"Not everyone is as brave as Santana. You can't fault them for that."

"I guess…", Quinn sighed. "Can we order now? I'm really hungry"

Rachel chewed her lip then nodded. "Only if you promise to show me photos of your cheerleading days"

"You can't corner me" The artist took out her wallet and unfolded a photo. "That's…me", she pointed to a very young and blonde Quinn, sandwiched in between Santana and the girls from earlier, giving the camera a winning smile.

"So you were a high flyer"

Quinn quirked her eyebrows to confirm.

"And you turned punk-ish to spite them?"

"Initially, yeah. But afterwards, I really liked it."

"So you keep this photo for?"

The artist shrugged. "I had good days with the team."

Rachel decided it was best to simply accept Quinn's answer and keep things light for the rest of the day.

It turned out to be a great decision.

"So, this is where Neon spirits go to when they die?", Rachel chuckled as they wandered around the Neon Boneyard. The younger girl hooked her arm on Quinn's as they let a large tour group pass through.

"Cool, huh? It's like Vegas history before your eyes."

"Yes, and", the brunette looked down and touched her VIP pass, "we didn't even need to set up an appointment"

"Small perks of being part of the local art community. We can get in museums for free, if we know the right people"

Rachel saw Vegas through the younger girl's eyes and for the first time didn't view the city from a dark and sinister perspective. From the boneyard to the Spring Preserve, she had forgotten for a brief moment why she longed to be far away from this place.

They made one last stop before sunset to a small but well-located gallery. A tall, lanky man welcomed them in.

"Hey, Mr. Schue. This is Rachel."

"Quinn", the man grinned and shook the brunette's hand. "Rachel, pleased to me meet you."

"Mr. Will Schuester owns this gallery. He's also my art teacher."

"Who seems to lack a certain student these days."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll show up. I've just been very preoccupied with more important stuff", she quirked her eyebrows and pointed Rachel—busy looking at the art displays—using her mouth.

Rachel hummed absent-mindedly when the man chuckled softly.

"Find anything you like, Rachel?", Will asked amiably.

"I do actually", the brunette smiled widely then points to a painting by Quinn that depicted flames in a large black canvas. "Can you tell me more about this?"

Will glanced at Quinn and chuckled again. "Well…uhm, the artist is right here. She just actually had that sent a few months ago. Perhaps it's best she says something?"

The artist was speechless. "I…I, uhm, I used a gloss medium to, uh, have that glow effect. It, uh, I did that when, uhm, I was, uhm, I mean", she breathed deeply, "that's you", Quinn mumbled.

Well. That certainly wasn't expected.

Will excused himself and breathed a sigh of relief when another couple walked in the gallery.

Rachel took a step closer to Quinn. "That's…me?"

"Well, not you literally"

The brunette smiled. "I hope so."

"Just…uhm"

"It's okay to tell me"

Quinn nodded and breathed deeply again. "I just…you make me feel alive. And…and you…you're this light in my darkness. I mean I'm not dark dark. I'm not psychotic. I just…ugh. I can't explain."

Rachel took Quinn's hand and kissed it. "I get it. Don't stress yourself over it. Thank you."

"Yeah", the artist mumbled.

"Hey", the brunette ducked her head and tried to keep eye contact with Quinn. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just", she said flatly, "you don't have to thank me for anything."

"Oh. Okay.", Rachel nodded and silently worried at the younger girl's sudden distance. "So, uhm, I think that will look nicely on my bedroom, don't you think so?"

"I guess. But that one would look nicer" Quinn pointed to another artist's work. "I know him personally. He's a great guy and needs all the help he can get."

"Yes, but your work is about me, and I would really like to have that"

"But it's not _for_ you. Otherwise, I would have given it to you."

"Oh-kay. What's wrong? What did I say that's got you all worked up?"

"Nothing. I just wish you wouldn't buy that and instead help out a struggling artist. But it's your money. So yeah, whatever."

"Quinn", Rachel sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll get the other one."

"Thank you"

"You don't have to thank me for anything", Rachel retorted then walked away from Quinn.

It was a quiet ride back home. It wasn't supposed to end this way. Rachel thought it was a nice gesture to go see Quinn's display and buy one.

It was meant to be romantic.

Instead, she was now stuck with a painting she didn't want to have and a girlfriend whose mind is somewhere else.

It was an exhausting day; too many ebbs and flows for Rachel to recover for the night. She didn't ask Quinn to stay when the girl stepped out of the car and made her way to her own apartment. She failed see Quinn the next morning. The younger girl didn't reply to her text messages the whole day. She failed to see Quinn before leaving for work. That girl can be a ninja when she wants to.

Rachel is absolutely dumbfounded with what transpired. She continued to rack her brains and figure out what she said that may have provoked Quinn's resentment.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

She wanted to fix this as soon as possible but she needed to work. Puck had been generous enough for her to take three days off per week. She can't afford to cancel more nights, even if it's provisional. She tried going to the artist's apartment but it was always Santana who answered and firmly disallowed Rachel from entering.

Those two. They must have had some form of blood compact.

Either that, or Santana is part German shepherd.

It's awful how Quinn was able to put so much distance between the two of them considering they lived next to each other.

"Q, really. This is getting out of hand."

Santana stormed inside Quinn's room and found the girl laying on her back and staring at the ceiling. "This is like the fifth time I had to drive her away. I don't like doing that"

"Maybe you should pack your things and move in her with her."

Santana narrowed her eyes then gripped the artist's collar and pulled her up until they are eye to eye. "I deal with your shit because you're my best friend and I love you. But don't you _ever_ make me feel I'm so disposable, Quinn, because I won't put up with that"

"I'm sorry", Quinn whispered. "I'm sorry"

"I'll be out of your hair before dinner"

"No", the artist got out of her bed. "No, please don't leave. Please. I'm sorry."

"I'm not your punching bag, you know" The Latina huffed and crossed her arm.

"I know, I know. I'm really sorry" Quinn threw herself and hugged her friend tightly.

Santana rolled her eyes then hugged back. "What happened anyway?"

"Nothing"

"If I get a dollar for every time you say that _and_ turns out it's not nothing, I would have a nice college fund start-up"

The pink-hair girl scratched the back of her head. "I told Rachel I loved her"

"_That's_ what's—"

"And she didn't say it back."

"Oh"

"Yeah"

"That sucks"

"She even thanked me the second time I said it." She then recounted the incident in the gallery.

"Oh, that hurts" Santana frowned. "I would have thought, you know"

Quinn sat down at the edge of her bed. "Have you told anyone you loved them?"

"My family and you"

"It kind of, yeah it sucks, when you finally grow balls to tell someone you love them and not hear it back"

Santana never met Frannie, but she had tried to imagine how awkward it was for Quinn to be at their dinner table, with her older sister having a conversation with their parents while the artist kept silent. They never tried to understand or showed appreciation for Quinn's art. They paid their way to art lessons because it kept Quinn busy and because Will Schuester personally pleaded to the Fabray couple to not let Quinn's talents go to waste.

Santana's father may be a lot of things these days, but she had good childhood memories with him.

Quinn's parents never told her they loved her.

She can't recall the first time they told her, or the last time.

So Quinn simply deduced that they may never have told her.

It's astounding how one can firmly believe on something and define who you are.

"You should talk to her about this."

"I'm not going to beg anyone to love me"

"It's not…you're not going to _beg_, Q. But she looked like a clueless bunny out there. I don't think she has any idea why you're sulking away"

"You _know_ what's gonna happen, S. She'll either break up with me or feel guilty about it. How am I supposed to believe her if she starts saying she loves me? That's not how it works."

"So, what do you plan to do?"

"Apologize for my behavior and move on from it."

"By moving on, you mean, closing yourself up. Quinn, I know you"

The artist shrugged. "If she can't open herself up to me, why should I?"

"You two have a very complicated relationship. I'd be surprised if it lasts for another month"

"Hey, don't say that"

"But it's true"

"No offense, you've _never_ been in a romantic relationship"

"I don't have to be in one to know that the things you do can fuck up _any_ type of relationship."

Quinn hates it when Santana is right.

Which practically means she hates almost every single day.

This is the story of their friendship.

It always ends with Quinn ignoring Santana's advice.

And Santana picking up the pieces of Quinn's wreckage.

It's not really unfair. Because Santana _has _the bragging rights. The girl likes recognition and the feeling of being needed in someone's life. Quinn gives her that.

In other words, Quinn is used to mutually assured relationships. She ignores her parents because she is being ignored. She's abandoned most of her friends because she felt abandoned. She gives everything to Santana because the Latina does the same.

She told Rachel she loves her.

Rachel has not said it back.

It's scrambling Quinn's radar.

Ah, but she loves the pain like some poet's tragic love.

Her muse was livid when Quinn finally decided to show up that Friday afternoon.

"Wow, look who's decided to grace me with her presence"

"Rachel", the artist sighed.

"Don't", the brunette raised a finger, "you Rachel me"

"Berry, then"

"You think you're funny? You think this is funny, Quinn? I'm not playing games with you. This is _exactly _what Puck warned me about"

"Puck?"

"You're immature, Quinn. And the frustrating thing is I can't _really_ blame you. I can't really ask for more. You're immature because you're _young_. God, what was I thinking?"

"What? You're breaking up with me?"

"I—no…I don't know"

"Huh. I won't be surprised if you do."

Rachel held an expression of incredulity. "You won't be surprised."

"It's easy when you're not that attached to the other person.", the artist shrugged.

"Hold on. Don't leave" Rachel motioned for Quinn to sit down. "You think…I'm not…that invested? Quinn, I negotiated three days off from work every week for us. How can you think that way? What's really bothering you?"

"That's it."

"Quinn"

"You seriously expect _me_ to tell _you_ how I feel when you barely say anything about yourself?"

"Well…What is it that you need to know?"

"Everything! You know about my family. You know about my life in school. I don't even know which part of New York you're from!"

"Why does that matter?"

"Because it _does_, Rachel. I want to know who you are"

"You told me you love me", Rachel said in a shaky voice. "So, why should it matter where I'm from?"

"You know a lot about me, yet you don't love me."

The brunette's eyes widened in shock. "You…you don't think…"

"See?", Quinn let out a humorless laugh. "You can't even say it. Love, Rachel. L-O-V-E"

"Quinn, god, no. That's not…I do", Rachel sighed heavily and mentally cursed herself for not seeing this problem earlier. "I do lo—"

"Save it", the artist cut her short and scoffed. "I don't want to hear it from you."

"Quinn", the brunette held the younger girl's hands firmly. "Listen to me—"

"I mean it, Rachel. I don't want to hear it."

How to screw up a relationship 101: Be consumed by fear.

"So…what now? Quinn, I don't want us to break up"

"I don't—you're the one who suggested it"

"I did no such thing!"

"So, now I make things up?"

"Stop finding reasons to be mad at me", Rachel pleaded then leaned forward to kiss the other girl's cheek. "I'm from Jamaica"

Quinn's eyebrows furrowed. "The country?"

The brunette snickered. "No…like Jamaica, Queens, southside. In New York."

"Oh. Yeah."

"It's not…the nicest place in the world. Extremely high crime rate and stuff."

"You're ghetto? Holy shit."

"I'm _from_ the ghetto, yes. But _I'm_ not ghetto." Rachel frowned in concern. "Does that…bother you?"

Quinn blinked several times. "No…it's just…I never imagined. You're so…"

"I'm so what?", the brunette pursed her lips.

"Not slum-like"

"Did I disappoint you? Because I don't have a pedigree?"

"No…I mean, my parents are self-made."

"But?"

"Nothing. I just didn't expect, that's all. I don't really care. I like who you are, now. And that's what matters."

Like.

"Quinn, I _love_ you.", Rachel blurted out before Quinn could protest. "And I'm sorry if I wasn't forthright about my feelings for you."

"How did your mom die? Is it related to where you live?"

"Quinn, please don't ignore—yeah, she died from a gunshot-related event."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. She was a prostitute, Quinn. She died from a raid. I don't know who my father is. I never met him. Puck and I, we've been surviving together since then. I met him when he was the bouncer and I was the lounge singer in a Harlem bar. Got any more questions?"

The artist's expression was a mixture of shock and awe. "You sing?"

It was obvious that Quinn was deflecting. Rachel regretted it the moment those pieces of information came out and vowed never to let the younger girl's interrogating tactics get the better of her again.

"I _used_ to sing"

Quinn chewed her lip nervously and avoided looking at Rachel.

"If you're ashamed of where I come from, Quinn—"

"I'm not", the younger girl interjected. "I'm not. I mean…it's not you. It's your mom."

"My mother _had_ to do that to keep me alive."

"Right…yeah…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…it's not how it sounded like"

"Okay"

There was an eerie silence that enveloped the living room. Both looked absolutely uncomfortable but neither wanted to break the stillness.

"Am I still that flame, Quinn?", Rachel finally asked.

"Yeah…yeah, you are", Quinn nodded. "I'm sorry…for everything."

"I love you", the brunette once again tried.

"…and now you can't say it back. Great", Rachel followed through when Quinn swallowed and nodded. "Look, Quinn. I'm sorry…I'm sorry that I got scared, okay? Tell me what to do to make things right, please?"

"Nothing…I just need time, I guess."

"Time…as in we're not going to see each other?"

"No…just time to get over…things"

"What things? Like my mom was a prostitute?"

"No—I…I just…"

"I understand", Rachel smiled sadly. "I do. Just please tell me you're not ashamed of me."

"I'm _not_", Quinn insisted. "I'll even introduce you to my mom"

"Your mom knows about your sexuality?"

"Yeah"

"She's fine with it?"

"She's…indifferent."

"And your dad?"

"He's in denial. He's in denial about everything"

"You don't have to introduce to me to your parents. Your words are enough for me"

"Okay"

"It's Friday. Do you want to go out?"

Are you still proud to be seen with me?

"I've got this invite to an exhibit opening at the Contemporary Arts Center. I think…I think we should go together."

"Okay, sounds good", Rachel smiled. "Attire?"

"Smart casual"

"You're going to wear a cocktail dress?"

Quinn looked down at what she's wearing. "I'm not changing."

"But you said—"

"Yeah. I'm smart and this is casual."

"Ha ha. Let me go change."

It was Quinn's way of telling her she's not ashamed, and Rachel appreciated that. She did not, however, anticipate who would be the people invited. It was a very daunting moment coming face to face with one of her clients. With Quinn on her side and the wife on his, Rachel realized she was safe. Camila Santiago isn't here tonight and the man knew that.

"Do you know that man?", Quinn asked. "He's been stealing glances at you all night"

"Not in particular", Rachel said before taking a generous amount of wine. "He probably was a client from long ago"

"Oh. Okay. Do you want me to introduce you to some people? Maybe you can get them as clients later on. Some of them are _really_ rich."

Yes, I know.

"No, I don't…I'd rather not think about work when I'm with you, Quinn" She smiled and squeezed the younger girl's hand. But when Quinn tried to kiss her, she backed away. "Not here, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Because…you're still a minor"

"I told you earlier—"

"Legally, yes. Age of consent. But I can be charged with a dozen more things besides statutory rape. I'm way beyond 21. People don't look kindly on that"

Clients certainly won't. Camila Santiago does not have double standards. If men can't kiss her, women can't, too.

Not that she's taken women clients before. She's never heard of one, actually.

"Okay, I understand that."

"Hmm?"

"I said…I understand what you're saying. Conjugal visits would be a pain"

"You're funny."

"I try. Glad to know I'm a roaring success"

Rachel tugged Quinn's hand. "What's over there?"

"Uhm", the artist craned her neck. "The art installation area. Wanna go see?"

"Yeah, educate me."

"I'm not the best person to promote appreciation for this medium.", Quinn whispered.

"Why not?"

"I don't…I find a lot of their stuff weird."

"You're kidding"

"I'm not", Quinn chuckled and looked around to see if they were secluded enough. "I just…I mean look at that", she pointed to a colorful box with a hockey stick attached to it. "A child can do much better. It's like someone took out a pachinko machine and stuck that hockey stick there. What's the point? I don't get it."

"Art doesn't really have a point, right?"

"Of _course_ there is. I don't believe in art for art's sake."

"Really? I would have imagined you believing in that"

"Art is for man's sake. What's the difference between Pollock's work and say, if I get to train a monkey to splat paint?"

Rachel smiled and waited for Quinn to answer her own question.

"When an artist works, he _feels_ and _thinks_. He makes decisions on what colors to use, or two notes to combine, or what scene to take. There's a purpose. That purpose doesn't have to be for everyone to understand. But a painting, for example, is the language I use. It's what separates us from animals. It's what makes us human. And that…that pachinko machine doesn't say anything. It sucks."

"You have a way with words, too, Quinn. Though, that had to be ruined by your sheer hatred for Japanese game machines posing as art"

"Yeah, sorry about that", the artist grinned.

"Quinn" Rachel held the younger girl's hand. "We're…okay now, right?"

"Yeah", Quinn mumbled and gazed into the brunette's eyes. "I'm really sorry about—"

"Shh. Let's not…we're okay. That's all that matters now."

"Please let me finish"

"I—okay, I'm sorry. What is it you wanted to say?"

"I'm sorry about what happened to your mom. But…I'm pretty sure, wherever she is, she's so proud of what you've become."

**A/N: I am sorry about the delay. Work is a pain in the ass. But please don't worry, I _promised_ at least once a week and I will make good of that. **

**I am overwhelmed by the response I receive from you. Thank you is not enough, but, that's all I have right now. A never ending sense of gratitude. Feel free to once again drop a comment or review. You have no idea how encouraging they are. **


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay…what is this for?"

"Nothing. I saw it and I thought it would look really nice on you."

Rachel held on to a De Beers cut-drop pendant, slack-jawed and hand quivering. "Quinn…you just don't happen to see something like this, _especially_ since their store is found at Caesars."

Quinn lolled her head and smirked. "Okay, okay. So I _may_ have deliberately looked for it."

Rachel scooted closer and kissed Quinn. "Quinn, I love this and I really appreciate it but I'm going to ask you to return this."

"What? No way I'm returning _that._"

"Quinn."

"Rachel."

"Please, don't be stubborn about this."

"What's wrong with _your_ girlfriend giving you a gift?"

"There is nothing wrong with _that_ per se. It is, however, disconcerting that _my_ 17-year-old girlfriend can afford expensive jewelry when _she _told me before that most of her art-related money is controlled through a fund."

"I keep some for myself."

"I've seen you spend, there's no way you can save on your own."

Quinn's face turned sour. "Why do you have to be very sharp?"

The brunette chuckled while shaking her head. "So, where exactly did you get this?"

"My sixteenth birthday."

"Ah."

"I don't wear stuff like that. I don't even know what my mom was thinking. But you. I see you wear necklaces a lot of times, especially for work."

"You do realize you can get into trouble if your mom starts looking for it."

"She won't. Trust me. Please, wear it?"

When it was clear that Rachel was still deliberating, Quinn took the necklace and put it on the brunette. "It'll really look nice on you. Especially when you wear those criminally low necklines."

"I do not wear criminally low necklines…do I?"

"You do." Quinn played with the pendant, occasionally brushing Rachel's chest with her thumb. "See? It suits you more."

"Does it bother you?"

"That it looks nice on you?"

"No. What I wear."

The young artist tucked Rachel's hair behind her ears. "You look stunning. That's one of the things I first noticed about you. I wasn't complaining _at all_."

Rachel grabbed their blanket and covered them both. Under the sheets, she gazed intensely at Quinn, letting the girl's breath kiss her face. "Mmm…and what are the other things?"

"Legs."

"Legs, huh?"

"Yup. I spent hours figuring out how someone so short can have legs that go for miles."

"That. Isn't romantic, Miss Fabray"

"Shh. I love your height. We fit well."

"I'm not _that_ short."

"Let it go, Rach."

"Fine. But I won't be as forgiving the next time you make fun of my height."

"You'd make me beg for it?" Quinn bit her lower lip and smiled mischievously. "What kind of punishment do you have in mind?"

"What perverted mind you have," Rachel giggled before rolling on top of her girlfriend. "And don't you dare say because you're an artist. You have abused that justification."

"I _wasn't_ thinking of that. I was too busy thinking of perversions."

"Remind me to discuss some of them with you", the brunette mumbled against Quinn's neck. Feeling the pendant move, she whispered, "Thank you for this necklace. I really love it."

"So that means you're accepting it?"

"Yes. But now, I would have to think of a very nice gift to give you."

"What's your issue with gift-giving?"

"I don't have an issue with it", Rachel said amusedly. "I actually find it slightly hilarious—but for the most part endearing—that you've been spoiling me. I think it should be in reverse."

"Because you're older?"

"Uh huh."

Quinn scoffed. "I think non-traditional covers us."

"It does," Rachel nodded slowly. "I'm still getting used to it, though."

"You really have to. Because it's gonna be like this forever."

"Wow. Forever, huh?"

"Yep." Quinn tucked one hand under her head and stared pensively at the ceiling.

The brunette kissed the younger girl's jaw before fully surrendering her weight against Quinn's body. "What's on your mind?"

"The future."

"What about it?"

"How it will be like with you. I've never…I've never really thought of how my life would be. It's weird." Quinn smiled widely. "Me thinking beyond…two weeks or something."

"Well…you know, you are young. You're allowed to think in short time-frames."

"Yeah. But I don't anymore. I have plans," Quinn announced proudly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna apply at UNLV. They have a Fine Arts program."

"You're not applying at other schools? That's not really an art school."

"There's no reputable art school in Las Vegas. And I don't want to be far away from you."

"Quinn." Rachel propped herself up on her left hand and brushed Quinn's cheek. "You can't revolve your life around me. This is about your future."

"It's about _our_ future," the artist countered.

"Okay, listen," Rachel sighed. "I love that you are including me in your plans but—"

"But what?" Quinn sat up. "You're not including me in _your_ plans?"

"I didn't say that." The brunette gently pushed her girlfriend's shoulders, coaxing her to lie down. As soon as Quinn complied, Rachel swung her leg and straddled the girl. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a very volatile temper?"

"Everyone."

"Knowing that your crabbiness isn't just reserved for me is strangely comforting."

"Don't change the subject, Rach."

There was a particular weariness in Quinn's voice that worried Rachel.

"I'm not," Rachel mumbled. She scooted closer and sat on the artist's torso.

"Quinn." The brunette laughed softly at her girlfriend's dilated pupils and intense gaze. "Focus. UNLV. Your future."

"Seriously? You're expecting me to do that," Quinn breathed out while caressing Rachel's thighs in an upwards motion. "When you're giving me an easy pass?"

"I'm giving _you_ an incentive to stop preempting me and have a civilized, adult conversation."

Quinn exhaled dramatically. "Okay. _My_ future."

"Really? You're gonna go down that route? I _never_ said anything about you not being included in my life."

"I _am_ part of your life. What I worry is not being part of your future."

"We can't really predict that, can we?"

"See?" Quinn shook her head and looked away. "I rest my case."

"Sweetheart," Rachel cooed while forcing the younger girl to look at her.

"I thought we're _not_ into terms of endearment. Or is it just you and control?"

"Excuse me?"

"You make up your own rules, but it's okay if you're the one who breaks them."

"Okay. So much angst."

"Always love the part when you create diversions by pointing out my flaws."

"Are we fighting again?"

"Nope. Just. Arguing."

Rachel chuckled as she shook her head. "Okay. I'm sorry. I wasn't…okay, so maybe I tend to divert things to your flaws. You make it easy."

"Oh. Wow." Quinn scoffed. She gripped the brunette's hips then flipped them over and pinned her before Rachel had any chance to react. "I just need to know one thing, Rachel," she whispered while staring intensely into the older woman's eyes.

"W-what is it?"

"Do you see a future with me? Like…not just a few months from now."

"I want to."

"But you can't?"

"Quinn, it's not that simple."

"Then simplify it for _me_. What is this for you?"

"It's everything I had dreamt of, Quinn."

"Then why can't you just reassure me?"

"Because I don't want to disappoint you in the end. I don't want you to act, be on your best behavior, or make plans simply because you have me. What if something wrong happens, Quinn? Are you going to throw away your plans? I want _you_ to be the best that you can be not because someone else expects you to, or because you want that person to be happy."

Quinn slightly twisted her lips and scowled. "You're right. I'm sorry." She slowly moved away on top of the brunette and sat down at the side.

"Quinn," Rachel swiped the pad of her thumb on the girl's arm.

"I understand what you mean, really. I should look for other options besides UNLV," the artist nodded.

The brunette smiled widely. "There are so many great schools out there. And with your talent, I bet you, they'd be the ones begging for your acceptance."

Quinn pursed her lips and nodded several times. "Yeah, I'm sure. Rach…Can I…be honest with you for a sec? I mean, can you be honest with me because I have something to ask."

"Uhm, yes, of course."

"Are you hiding something from me?"

Thump. There goes Rachel's heart.

"N-no, why would you say that?"

" I just...I keep trying to break down your walls, but you just keep adding up layers. I don't get you. I'm supposed to be the complicated one. But I try to keep things uncomplicated with you."

Kapow. That was a punch in the gut.

" I spent hours talking to our school counselor—and don't worry, I didn't say you're a senior citizen already— asking for relationship advice, because," Quinn chuckled sardonically, "I have no one to turn to. It's hard."

Bang. A bullet to the chest. Through and through.

"And you know what she told me? I should be very honest with you. What she said made me feel good because you're the most honest thing that's ever happened in my life. And that," Quinn let out a shaky breath. "That's all I've been trying to do, Rachel."

"Okay, okay," Rachel said calmly with raised her hands above her chest. "Let's talk about this." She immediately locked the girl into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry," she murmured against Quinn's chest, ignoring the way the other girl's arms slumped on her sides. "I just…you're so intense, Quinn. It scares me sometimes."

"So, it's my fault again," Quinn sighed in surrender.

"No, no. That's not what I meant." Rachel held on to the other girl tighter. "I'm just so scared of hurting you."

"You _are_ hurting me."

It was said in the softest whisper that if there was any other sound present in the room, Rachel would have missed it. But the way it resonated inside the brunette's head was akin to a loud pounding of a jackhammer.

But Rachel felt there was nothing she could do.

Damn if she does. Damn if she doesn't.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Quinn. So, so sorry. Please forgive me?"

"Yeah."

"I do want to be with you."

"Why's it so hard for you to say it?"

"Because…like I said, you're so intense. I've never been with anyone who…makes plans for our future. Usually, that's what makes people run away. But you…you're so young but you're so sure about being with me."

"You really need to get over the age thing. That's getting old."

"Witty, aren't we?"

Quinn finally hugged Rachel back. "I'm just…I'll be graduating before I know it. I don't want to be in some school somewhere that doesn't have you as a resident. I really get what you're trying to say. But I just also wish that you'd stop thinking we're gonna break up soon."

"I don't—"

"Yes you do. You don't have to say it out loud for me not to hear it. I can be self-absorbed but like I said, I'm also very observant. It's funny because—since you're obsessed with our age gap—I should be the one fearing long-term commitment. But I'm not. Not with you. I'm sure, Rach. I know we haven't been dating for a long time. But I'm really sure."

It might as well have been a marriage proposal.

Rachel wanted to cry. She _willed_ herself to cry.

Years of suppression, however, made her tear ducts evolve into non-functioning entities.

"I'm not like them." Quinn declared with confidence.

"Not like who?"

"Those who have hurt you in the past. I'm not like them. I'm not them. I can be stupid, and immature, and temperamental and what have you. But I'm trying my best not to break your heart."

Oh.

What do you know? Those little tubes still work.

It was the breaking of the dam.

"Hey…don't cry." Quinn tried to soothe Rachel which only led to the brunette's louder sobs. "I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to—shit, I'm so sorry."

"No, no." Rachel swallowed and attempted to control her breathing. "You didn't…do anything…wrong", she said in between hiccups.

"But—"

Rachel silenced Quinn's protest with a kiss. She didn't care if the younger girl tasted her tears or grossly spread her snot on the artist's cheek. It was the kiss of her life.

"Wow," Quinn gushed breathlessly. "I should talk like that more often."

"No. You'll wear it out," Rachel grinned while her tears continued to spill. "God, it's not stopping," she whined and repeatedly wiped her eyes. "I'm such a mess."

"A lovely one," the artist sighed contently.

"Death by swooning, Quinn. I swear. That's going to be the coroner's report." She tapped Quinn's nose before kissing it. "But…a wonderful way to die."

"Ugh. No talks about death."

"Shit. I forgot. Your sister.", Rachel groaned. "I'm so tactless."

"Well, no. I wasn't thinking of her…I mean, I just don't want to think about you dying. But now that you've mentioned it…Frannie's death anniversary is a couple of days from now. I need to visit her."

"You do that every year?"

"Yeah…," the artist chuckled softly. "Why?"

"Nothing. I just…after my mom's funeral. I never looked back. I feel horrible, now."

"It's not an obligation. We have very different circumstances."

"Can I go with you?"

"You…want to go with me?"

"I'd understand if you think that's too personal."

"No, I don't. I mean, Santana usually goes with me."

"Well…we can all go together?"

"Yeah," Quinn smiled widely. "We can do that."

"So…is there a tradition I should know about?"

"None…I just put flowers and, well, hang around for awhile. I just don't want her to feel forgotten."

"She won't be. Not with a wonderful sister like you."

"I hope so," Quinn smiled proudly. "Hey, what does your mom look like?"

"I don't have a lot of pictures but," Rachel chewed her lip nervously before reaching out for her nightstand and pulled the drawer. "Here."

Quinn took a framed photo of a toddler Rachel and Shelby. "You're _so_ adorable."

"I thought you were curious about my _mom_?" the brunette chuckled.

"She's very pretty, Rach," Quinn looked up and kissed Rachel's cheek. "But you're prettier."

"You think so? She's taller you know," she smirked at the younger girl.

Quinn chuckled. "But…not to disrespect her…," artist traced the outline of Rachel's face, "you have softer features. I like that."

"Thank you," Rachel whispered.

She was a grown woman used to compliments.

Hell, she eats compliments almost every night.

She didn't have to look in the mirror to know her face has turned red.

The little girl inside her was giddy.

She was always the good girl, obedient and smart.

But she was never the prettier-than-mom daughter.

"How do you do that?" she asked with her forehead leaning against Quinn's. "How do you know the right words to say?"

"I also say the wrong things," Quinn shrugged. "Are you gonna cry again? I should get some tissue."

The brunette cackled and slapped the artist's shoulder. "That. That was definitely a wrong thing to say."

"Hey I'm a per—" Quinn snapped her head towards Rachel's window as she heard her father's voice talking loudly on the phone. She peeped through and confirmed the man's presence. "Dad."

It was like seeing a child on Christmas morning. Quinn pecked Rachel's lips then tugged her hand. "Come on. I'll introduce you."

"But Quinn, I thought you said your dad's in denial?" Despite her hesitation, Rachel quickly dressed up and combed her tousled hair. "Quinn. I asked if—"

Gone.

Rachel heard her door slam.

"Great," the brunette sighed. "Time to meet the parent."

Quinn ran down quickly only to be halted by her father's hand before pointing to the phone.

Rachel scampered to stand beside Quinn and hold her hand.

"He's probably talking to a very important client," Quinn whispered and offered a shy smile.

"It's okay," Rachel whispered back.

That was the longest ten minutes of Rachel's life.

Quinn didn't have any physical resemblance with her father but the confident stance is undeniably shared by the two. The way he talked to whoever was on the other side of the phone reeked bravado and confidence that Quinn at certain times slip into.

And the way Quinn waited patiently spoke volumes of her affection towards this man—despite her projected indifference during conversations about their respective families.

"Dad," Quinn smiled after her father finally ended the conversation.

"How's my pink-haired angel?" Russel smiled back and mussed Quinn's hair before noticing Rachel's presence. He tilted his head and stared at the brunette curiously.

The artist cleared her throat. "Uhm, Dad. This is Rachel Berry. Rachel, this is my dad, Russell."

Rachel smiled and offered her hand.

"Have we met before?" Russell asked while shaking the brunette's hand.

"I…don't believe so, sir."

"Huh."

"Dad…Rachel's my girlfriend."

"Your—of course, of course," Russell forcefully chuckled. "But I could swear I've seen you before." He wagged his finger before rubbing his chin. "In an event. I'm sure."

"I really don't think so, sir." Rachel insisted.

Quinn shifted her glance from Rachel to Russell. "Well…he owns an ad agency. And you run a travel agency. So, I guess, you've crossed paths somewhere?"

"I—"

"Of course!" Russell's voice boomed. "That must be it. Were you at the conference sponsored by the Tourism board?"

"I…yes, I was." Rachel swallowed.

"There you go," Russell laughed. "Anyway, here's my card. If you ever have any advertising needs, we do above and below the line."

The brunette nodded and took the card with both hands. This visibly impressed the man.

"I don't have my card…"

Russell waved it off. "That's fine. I will remember you from now on," he smiled as he tapped his temple with his finger. "Anyway, Quinn, I can't stay for long."

"What? Why? I haven't seen you in _months_, dad."

"Honey, you know we're expanding to nearby states. I need to be hands-on. I just dropped by to give you—Did Judy leave allowance?"

"No", the artist sighed.

Russell nodded before reaching out for his wallet. "I'm giving you extra for not receiving a call from your guidance office or the hospital ER," he laughed then winked at his daughter.

Quinn pursed her lips and quirked her eyebrows before pocketing a few hundred dollar bills without counting. "That's not enough."

"Oh?"

"For groceries. Santana needs her protein shakes and energy bars. They don't come cheap."

"Why am I feeding someone else's daughter these days?"

Quinn took another wad of bills. "You _have_ been feeding and clothing her for four years, dad."

Russell looked flabbergasted. "I have?"

On cue, Santana parked Quinn's SUV and got off. "Hey, Q, R, Mr. F," she sluggishly waved and walked past them, heading directly to the Fabray apartment.

"And evidently, providing transportation as well," Russell muttered.

"You're gonna miss your flight."

"I—okay. We _will_ talk about this when I get back."

"I'm sure." Quinn hugged her father. She started mumbling as soon as her father drove off. "Be good. Don't forget to take your vitamins. Always pray at night. Love you."

She felt Rachel's arms wrap around her from behind. "I love you, too," Rachel whispered.

**A/N: This is a slow update and really for my own satisfaction. I wanted to see a glimpse of R and Q's evolving level of intimacy. **

**Thank you once again for all your comments, constructive criticisms and guidance. **

**FF needs to have a function that forces everyone who subscribes to story alerts and favorites to comment as well, no? **

**Have a good day/week. **


	8. Chapter 8

Rachel balled up her fists and curled her toes in anticipation. While lying down on her stomach, she felt Quinn apply a generous amount of massage oil on her back.

"Ready?"

The brunette nodded then swallowed thickly.

Quinn pulled the steel bucket filled with ice within arm's reach then plugged her electric wax melter. She repeatedly kissed Rachel's shoulder while waiting for the crayons to melt. "It's not gonna hurt, I promise."

"I trust you," Rachel whispered.

"Thank you. But anytime you want to stop…"

Rachel lifted her head a bit and smiled. "I know. I trust you, Quinn," she repeated.

The young artist nodded, settled next to her girlfriend and kissed her lips. After securing her hand with her mom's old golf glove, she picked up a hot metal cup and raised it a good couple of feet above Rachel's back.

Rachel felt a gush that soaked her core. Then blood immediately rushed through her veins. Her head felt light and the path created by the melted wax left a warm pleasurable sensation. After it cooled down and her body settled back to a relaxed state, she felt nothing but arousal again.

Rachel writhed as the young artist poured another batch.

The artist leaned closer and blew air to hasten the cooling. "Oh, god, Quinn," Rachel moaned loudly. "That feels…that feels so good."

It felt warmer the third time. She knew Quinn was getting bolder and had closed the distance between the cup and her back. She bit her bottom lip so hard that it drew blood, while Quinn ran an ice cube over the trail of melted crayon.

It was exhilarating.

She found herself mumbling, "Again."

Quinn's eyes lit up and pulled her lower lip between her teeth while choosing another color.

Rachel was amazed at how jealousy—a feeling so foreign—fueled her into suggesting this.

Sure, Quinn was actually working on crayons over canvas when she stepped into the artist's workshop.

And what started as an innocent conversation quickly turned into a game of twenty questions.

"Crayola!" Rachel clapped and jumped up and down with excitement. "I never knew you also use that."

"Not recently," Quinn laughed as she turned around and returned the cup over the wax melter. "I think the last time I did this was back in 5th grade."

"So, what made you decide to go back?"

Quinn shrugged. "I just felt like doing something different. Do you like it so far?"

Rachel stared at the huge canvas and grinned. "I love it."

The artist glowed. "That's good to know."

"Doesn't that hurt?" Rachel eyed some of the crayons that accidentally dripped over Quinn's wrist.

"Not really."

"So…if I pour some into your hair…" Rachel chuckled as she eyed the cup with melted purple in it.

"I don't _mind_ wax poured over my body. Just not my hair. Removing that can be a bitch."

That caught the brunette's attention.

"You've…you've done wax play?"

"Oh, wow. You actually know the term," Quinn laughed loudly before pouring another batch from the top of the canvas.

Rachel scowled and crossed her arms defensively. "Why does that surprise you?"

"Because your idea of sex comes right out of a manual. In-out-in-out-release."

"That's not true!" Rachel laughed loudly. "Just because I've been relatively more conservative in bed than you doesn't mean I don't know anything else. I just…those things. You need a huge amount of trust."

"Or crazy enough to risk it."

"I take it you're the latter."

"I never said I've tried it."

"You deflected earlier. I _know_ you've tried it."

Quinn offered her a closed smile. "I may have done it once…or twice."

Rachel crinkled her nose. "With the same person?"

"Uhm."

"Just _how_ many sexual partners are we talking about?"

The younger girl paused and turned around to face the brunette. "I don't—I don't really count, Rachel. I'm clean, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not—well, okay maybe that worries me a bit, too."

"Why didn't you voice out your concern _before_ we started having sex. You _knew_ I had multiple partners."

"I don't know. Maybe…maybe I just trust you enough."

"I had myself tested right after we started dating, I can show you the results" Quinn offered.

"You did?"

"I'm not stupid, Rach," the artist gazed into her girlfriend's eyes. "I know the risks, and I would _never_ put you in harm's way."

"I was right with my gut feel, then," Rachel nodded. "Can you at least give me a ballpark figure?"

"You really won't let go of that?"

"I'm just curious."

Quinn scratched the back of her head. "Eight, I guess."

"You guess."

"You said ballpark figure."

"And those aren't just random, are they? You still see them. I mean, they're in your social circle."

"Rachel, I wouldn't cheat on you."

"I know," Rachel sighed. "I just…I don't think I want to be introduced to them."

"Okay…but…none of them meant anything to me."

The brunette nodded and turned her attention back to the wax melter. "So, uhm. Besides wax play, what else did you engage into?"

"Seriously? You're—okay," Quinn puffed her cheeks and looked up. "Honesty. Okay. Bondage," she mumbled. "But that's it. And it was just once…together with the other."

"Someone tied you up and poured hot wax on you. That…that could have hurt you badly, Quinn."

"I know. I was stupid, okay?"

"No—I just," Rachel closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I was just…I don't know," she chuckled nervously. "I probably shouldn't have asked about it."

"Rach," Quinn stepped closer and took the brunette's hand. "You're the _best_ I've ever had."

"That's comforting to know," Rachel mumbled against the other girl's lips. "I'm sorry for distracting you. Go on. I'll be quiet here."

"Okay", the artist chuckled. "But. Just so you know, what I'm doing is fun. You're free to join me."

"You're letting me mess up your work?"

Quinn tilted her head and looked at the canvas with one eye closed. "You can't mess up an already messed up work."

Rachel's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I just pour it from the top, right?"

"Anyway you want it. You can splash it all over, too."

The brunette nodded. "I think I'll start with how you were doing it earlier."

"Okay." Quinn stepped behind Rachel and wrapped her arms around the brunette.

The older woman's focus did not break, despite Quinn's kisses on her neck. She quietly watched the stream break its path into two as it hits an already hardened area from the previous process. "Am I an artist yet?"

"Yeah," Quinn breathed out and smiled.

"So, uhm…" Rachel ran her finger over the cup's brim. "Would crayon work the same way as candle?"

The younger girl rested her chin on her girlfriend's shoulder. "I don't know. I guess—maybe."

The brunette breathed in deeply. "Would you be willing to try it out?"

"Rach," Quinn exhaled sharply and turned Rachel around. "They really didn't mean anything to me."

"No, I know that."

"We don't have to do those things."

"Did it feel good?"

Quinn chewed her lip. "Yeah, it did. But I'm not like, looking for it or anything."

Rachel cupped the back of Quinn's neck. "Let me qualify my question earlier. Would you be willing to try it out…on me?"

The artist's eyes were as huge as saucer plates.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I will…be right back." She scampered off towards the kitchen, grabbed an ice bucket and filled it up before calling Santana. "Hey, S. Where are you and what are your plans?"

"Just got out of a full day practice. I hate coach. I swear," the Latina ranted. "But, I'll be at a party later. Why?"

"Okay—what party? How come I'm not invited?"

"You hardly go to parties."

"But I _still_ get invited."

"No one asks you anymore because they know they can't compete with the hottest tamale in town, a.k.a Rachel Berry."

"Whatever. Who's the host?"

"Brittany."

"Who?"

"Jesus, Quinn. I've introduced you to her. Transferee, tall, blonde, new member of my team, remember now?"

"Not really. But anyway, send me the address just in case Rachel wants to go later."

"You're not invited."

"And you're inviting me."

"Fine. I'll let her know."

"Oh, uhm, don't come home any time soon."

"But I would need to shower. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fantastic. Rachel's here. So…"

"Gotcha. I don't wanna hear things I'm not supposed to hear. I'll just shower at Britt's."

"Good thinking. Gotta go. Bye."

She found Rachel kneeling down on the mattress and fluffing the pillows. Quinn stared breathlessly at the brunette who was literally glowing from the sun's setting rays. "Hi," Rachel smiled.

The artist managed to squeak out a reply. "Uhm, so…ice. You know, just in case."

The brunette nodded and exhaled before taking her shirt off. She shimmied out of her jeans while Quinn did some preparations.

Once everything was in place, the younger girl went down on her knees and kissed her girlfriend who was chewing her lip nervously. "I love you."

This made Rachel smile and gaze into her expectantly. "I love you, too," she whispered before lying down. She tried to even her breathing until she heard Quinn ask, "Ready?"

The first time was accompanied by a numbing sting, but the pleasure heightened one batch after another. After what seemed like forever, Rachel was nearing the point of begging.

She was nearing the edge of sexual frustration.

She imagined what it would have been like had she allowed Quinn to blindfold and tie her up.

Oh. Not a good thought when she was at the precipice of combusting.

"Quinn. Stop."

"Did I hurt you?"

Rachel turned to her side. "No." She pulled Quinn on top of her with a force that took the artist by surprise.

"Woah," Quinn chuckled softly while balancing herself. "Hello there."

"I want you."

And those were the last coherent things they said.

For the next couple of hours, everything was reduced to grunts, moans and other animalistic sounds with occasional attempts to declare their love, only to be silenced by a bite or a searing kiss.

Quinn collapsed on top of Rachel after their endurance gave up on them.

Rachel hummed contently. "What time is it?"

"Time to peel off what's left of those crayons on your back."

The brunette let out a breathy laugh as she rolled over. "If we keep going at it like this, I will never be able to walk again."

"That's too bad," Quinn blew some of the chipped wax away. "I was hoping we could go to a party later."

"Where?"

"Some cheering squad member's house."

"Ah. So. We're gonna go to a high school party."

"You make it sound so bad."

"It kind of is for me, Quinn. I would feel awkward. But. You _should_ go, if you want to."

"Not going if you aren't."

"Oh, don't be like that. You shouldn't be stuck—"

"Stuck?" Quinn laughed loudly. "I would hardly consider this being stuck."

"But—"

"There's something about you that a party can't give me."

"You _can_ go and have fun with your schoolmates. I know you've been trying really hard to be straight-laced and all. And I _know_ you wouldn't be doing things I don't want you to do."

"It's not that. It's just…"

"It's just what?"

"I don't really care much about socialization and stuff, but those idiots are part of my world. I sometimes feel like I live a double life."

Rachel frowned while tracing patterns over Quinn's arm. "What do you mean?"

"It's not coherent. Like, I compartmentalize everything. I have my life with you, which is separate from school, and both are separate from my art circle."

"I don't think our lives are meant to be without some form of dividers. We need that space."

"Is that why I've never seen Puck?"

"You want to know him?"

"You have a lot of history with him. Of course I want to know him. He's probably the only person in the world who knows the real you."

"Wait, what? Quinn."

"That's fine," the artist shrugged with a smile. "I'm beginning to accept that you won't share most of who you are with me. I guess some people are really like that. And it's wrong for me to force you to. As long as you _are_ with me, you know what? I'm really okay. I mean, you're mine, right?"

"I'm yours."

"Then that's all I need."

And that's all Rachel needed to reach the end of her tether.

She marched towards Puck's office the Monday that followed her colorful—pun intended—weekend.

"Puck, we need to—"

"Rachel!" Puck grinned. "I have good news."

"Uh, what?"

"Remember that Russian casino mogul? He's spending the holidays here and specifically asked for _you_. The whole goddamn week. Shit. You're gonna be swimming in money, Rachel. What a way to end the year, huh?"

"Great. Really great. Puck, I _need_ to have a word with you."

Puck raised an eyebrow. "That's supposed to be happy news."

"I'm happy, see?" Rachel smiled and pointed to her lips.

"I've seen happier smiles from taxidermied animals. But whatever. What is it?"

"After New Year's, I'm done."

"What do you mean you're done?"

"As in, I'm quitting."

"Okay," Puck nodded. "Thanks for the heads up. But I thought you still need the money for your plans?"

"I do."

"So, how's that going to work for you?"

"I'll re-sell the property in Hawaii."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Quinn and I had a _long_ discussion about her future. She wants to go to the San Francisco Art Institute."

"So?"

"So…I want to go with her to San Francisco."

Puck guffawed. "Seriously? You're giving up your life dream for her?"

"It wasn't really a dream. It was…my escape from my life here. I don't, I don't see a reason anymore to run away."

"You told her what you do for a living and she's okay with it?"

"No, I've not told her."

Puck hung his mouth and lowered his head. "What? You just expect your past to magically go away? You think by quitting now, she'll never find out? Rachel. You're a smart woman. You _know_ people's pasts have a way of haunting their present and future."

"I _do _have plans of coming clean. I just want to be fully detached from this life before I tell her. It's one thing for her to accept that I've done this. It's another thing to make her continue dealing with it."

"Okay. Assuming things turn out well. What _are_ you going to do in San Francisco?"

Rachel sighed heavily.

Damn. She didn't think about that.

"I don't—well, once I re-sell the property, I would have enough money to…uhm, be a fulltime domestic partner…while she's studying?"

Puck pushed his cheek with his tongue and chuckled. "Brilliant plan, Rachel."

The brunette grimaced then massaged her temples. "I'll think of something. I will. Take baking and cooking lessons. Whatever. All I know is that I want to be with her."

"Man," Puck sighed. "And I thought I'll have you back in due time."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Honestly? I thought you two would be over by now."

"Well, odds were never in my favor, but I've always beaten it."

"You also are aware of the laws of probability. So, just be careful."

"I am… I have a question."

"No, we don't have separation pay," Puck chuckled.

"You're being extremely unjust. I have a share in this business, and I do plan to get it back. That wasn't my question, but now that you've reminded me, you need to find a new investor. When I start my new life in Frisco, I want to be free from all forms of exploitative activities towards women."

Puck growled in regret. "Fine. What's your question?"

"How bad is it for a grown woman like me to be seen at a high school party?"

"Your Lolita's been asking you?"

"Do _not_ call her that. In fact, do _not_ call her anything but Quinn or I'll cut off your balls and hang them at the Bellagio Fountains."

"Woah," Puck laughed with his hands raised. "Someone's _really_ irate this afternoon."

"She asked me this weekend. And I declined. Then she's been dropping hints that there's another party."

"Then just tell her you're not comfortable."

"I did. She says she doesn't find "coherence," Rachel drawled out while air quoting the word, "in her life because I don't know the people in her circle."

"But?"

"But, I don't know. I think a huge part of her just wants to show me off. You know, I think she's been downplaying her position in the high school social ladder. But you don't get to be best friends with the head cheerleader and be invisible. When we encountered some of those cheerleaders before, they were practically begging for her attention."

Puck shook her head in amusement. "Didn't she kiss you in front of the whole student body?"

"Yes, and that was pretty embarrassing. She can be very…"

"Childish? She is a child, Rachel."

"Most of the time, she isn't. Or at least she tries very hard, and I really appreciate that. But there are just moments when she slips and ugh," Rachel rolled her eyes, "I haven't met anyone who spends hours watching Spongebob reruns."

"You know what your problem is? Among other things."

"What?"

"You don't appreciate what you have. Here's your chance to feel young and carefree. Something you never had. Instead, you're forcing _her_ to be like _you_. Serious and boring."

Rachel glared at Puck. "I'm not—" she sighed, "yeah, okay, I'm boring. So what you're saying is I should go with her to parties centered on teenage debauchery."

"Doesn't have to be like _that_. I just meant—and this is just my observation from the way you talk about her sometimes— you have—and maybe it's unintentional on your part—a condescending attitude towards her middle-class upbringing and privileges. Not everyone has to struggle the way you did. Get over it."

"What will I do without you?"

"Probably get lost in the desert and die. So, exactly why are you leaving? Not that I mind. At least I can put down the fake travel agency website we have—I pay for that, mind you—and we can actually use the line dedicated for that instead of it being "busy" all day."

Rachel grinned widely. "You know I will forever love you for it. In fact, if Quinn and I decide to get married in the future, you're going to be my bridesmaid."

"That's fine, as long as my dress doesn't have shiny, shimmering, sparkly stuff."

"Noted."

"Hey, have you told her about the little insignificant detail that you'll be working during the holiday season?"

"No. Not yet. I'm trying to find the perfect timing."

Puck sighed heavily and scratched his head. "You're really doing this all wrong."

"Why are you so concerned?"

"Besides the fact that you hound me with your love problems even if I don't want to hear it? I _do_ want you to be happy, Rachel. I don't understand how _she_ can make you happy, but hell, whatever."

There was a particular sadness in Puck's voice that made Rachel gaze at him and, for the first time since they've met, see the man he really was.

She had long suspected but always tried to ignore.

"You know I'll always love you, right?" Rachel smiled.

Puck smiled back. "I know. It's just unfortunate that we were never on the same page about it."

And there it was. Finally. Out in the open.

"I thought I was like your sister."

"I don't think you would have trusted me this much if I had been so honest. I don't regret it."

Rachel hugged him tightly. "And for the record, nothing has changed. I still trust you."

"And for the record, I like it better if you do choose to go to San Francisco than Hawaii."

"Yeah?"

"Proximity matters."

"Her presence _matters_," Quinn grumbled.

Santana leaned against the lockers. "It's the annual Cheerios post-Christmas pre-New Year barbeque. You _have_ to be there, Q. I know you want Rachel to be there, but it's important for me that _you_ are there. You've always been my plus one."

Quinn pouted as she stared at a photo of her and Rachel stuck on her locker door. "I'm sure you'll find another plus one this year."

The Latina rolled her eyes. "It's _easy_ for me to get another date. But that's not the point."

"Yeah, I know. I've been an absentee friend lately."

"No, you're not," Santana scoffed. "I just—hey Britts", she smiled bashfully and smoothed her skirt.

"Hey, S! Hey, Q! You're Q, right?"

Santana glared at Quinn to stop the artist from saying something snarky. Quinn raised a questioning brow. "Yeah, that's me alright. How was your party?"

The tall blonde furrowed her brows "Party? What party?"

Quinn blinked several times then glanced at a pale-looking Santana. "The…party last Saturday?"

"I didn't have a party. I had S over. It was just the two of us. We—"

"Hey, Britts! Uhm, I forgot to tell you Coach was looking for you. Something about a new stunt she wants you to try."

"Really? But we just got out of practice, why didn't she—"

"She must've forgotten," Santana mumbled while gently pushing Brittany away from Quinn.

"Oh. Yeah, she does have a lot on her mind lately. Alright, I'll see you later!"

The Latina exhaled sharply before turning around to face Quinn. "Party, huh?" the artist smiled impishly. "Did I spread the gay on you? Or I was simply not your type?"

"Shut up," the Latina snarled.

"So…if Rachel actually said yes last weekend…"

"I _knew_ she wouldn't."

"So…since when?"

"I _really_ don't want to talk about it right now."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

The dark-haired girl sighed heavily and looked down. "Because it's one thing to be supportive of my friend who happens to be gay; It's another thing to begin realizing that I'm…I'm also…I mean, I didn't mind people thinking I was your girlfriend because I knew it wasn't true. But with her…"

Quinn nodded before giving Santana a bone-crushing hug. "Your friend who happens to be gay will be very supportive of you. You don't have to be scared. You don't have to be sure right now. You don't have to label yourself. You don't owe anyone any explanation."

"Please be there at the barbeque. I need you to be there."

"Okay. Count me in."

**A/N: I love Puck, okay? That's all. **

**I know some (maybe a lot) of you are really anxious for this story to come full circle, and we're getting there :-)**

**Oh, and please forgive me for failing to catch mistakes. I proofread this while our building maintenance was hammering away my kitchen counter.**

**Thank you and have a wonderful weekend!**


	9. Chapter 9

Santana was rudely awakened by a loud crash and muffled shouts coming from Quinn's workshop. She heard the door slam shut.

Twice.

First from Quinn's room and the next was the front.

The Latina quickly ran out and found Rachel picking up broken canvases and some paint tubes on the floor. "Oh my god. What happened in here?" Santana gasped as she surveyed the room. "Rachel," she stepped closer when the older woman said nothing and simply started to put the easels back together. "Did Quinn…did she…"

Rachel let out a shaky breath. "No, but if these easels could sue for physical injuries…"

"Shit." Santana knelt down and placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Rachel, be honest. Did Quinn hurt you?"

The brunette closed her eyes and shook her head. "Not physically. But—god, I've not seen—I had no idea... I mean I know she is irritable but—She just—she just blew up, Santana." Rachel inhaled deeply. "God, I was so scared."

"Come on. Let's go to your place, okay? She left a few minutes ago, but it would be better if you're not here in case she comes back."

Rachel felt as if she was being literally lifted off the floor by Santana. It took almost an hour for the brunette to calm her nerves and stop herself from shaking. "She asked me to go that…that barbeque thing?"

Santana nodded. "It's this huge party our squad sponsors every end of the year."

"And I told her…I told her I can't go with her and she…" Rachel breathed deeply again.

"You can't or you don't want to?"

"_Can't. _ I tried explaining that I have work. It's the holidays and we're at our busiest during this time of year."

The Latina sighed. "Why didn't you tell her before? She paid for your ticket."

"Because I knew she would have reacted negatively. I was trying to find a good timing. But _this_ is somehow I never expected to happen. I didn't even know people had to pay for a barbeque event."

"Well, it's not _just_ a barbeque event. It's a charity event. We hold it annually. We make a decision which charity or foundation we donate the proceeds to. I may or may not have influenced this year's decision."

"Who's the beneficiary?"

"The Inkatha Youth Foundation for the Arts."

Rachel's eyes widened and she slowly broke into a smile. "Quinn donates some of her time there, right?"

"Sometimes, yeah. It's those things that still make me believe in Q, you know?"

The older woman nodded solemnly. "That's why she's insistent on making me go, huh?"

"I guess," Santana shrugged. "It's not my habit to scrutinize her intentions."

They fell into a deafening silence until the Latina sighed loudly.

"I've never seen her like that," Santana mumbled with a deeply worried expression. "Get so riled up like that."

"So this is the first time?"

The Latina's lips twitched with her eyes kept firmly on her hands. "No—I mean, I've not seen her really explode. But she's—she told me right after her sister died, her parents insisted to keep her in their home at the suburbs and Quinn, she, uh, she basically tore their house down."

"And her parents…just gave in?"

"I guess…when you just lost a daughter…you kind of want to do everything not to lose the remaining one." Santana shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really care what goes on in their minds. And Quinn never really explained why she did what she did. I do think she went overboard this time."

"No—I. What scares me is she might do something to hurt herself."

"Uhm, I don't think she'll do anything crazy. She loves you. She's really mad right now, but yeah, she won't do anything that will make _you_ really mad at her."

"I'm going to trust your word because you know her more than I do."

"That should change."

"I'm sorry?"

"_You _should know her more than I do. She's your girlfriend."

"Yes, but you've known her longer. I'm trying."

"No, you're not."

Rachel was taken aback by the young girl's statement. "Santana, I know you're more sympathetic of Quinn, that's expected. But—"

"Don't." The Latina closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She then stared intensely into Rachel's eyes before shaking her head. "I have never spoken to Quinn about my genuine sentiment towards you because, Jesus, I've never seen her so smitten with anyone. It breaks my heart. Look, Rachel," Santana sighed. "I like _you_ as a person but I don't like _you_ as Quinn's girlfriend."

Rachel slightly narrowed her eyes and straightened her back. "You don't like me as Quinn's girlfriend. What, do you—are you in love with her?"

"What? Oh, eww, no." Santana stuck out her tongue and grimaced. "That's not what I meant. She's very beautiful and all, and I'll be the first to admit that she's very attractive. But, no."

The older woman visibly relaxed at this. "Okay, that's good. I don't think I could compete with you."

"Why's that?"

"I don't think she's ever gotten over her crush on you." Rachel smiled sadly. "Half of our conversations revolve around Santana this, Santana that."

The younger girl sniggered. "No, you're getting it all wrong. She's not…I'm her safe topic."

"Uhm, her what?"

"When she doesn't know what to say anymore, but she feels like she's expected to hold a conversation, she talks about me. It's always been like that. You have no idea how many people I've met through her and have the same reaction." Santana chuckled wryly. "Oh, so you're _that_ Santana."

"But why would she do that with me? I don't—it's not a requirement for us to always talk. I don't expect her to, you know."

"Well, maybe she _does_ want to talk and just doesn't know how to."

"So, she uses you as an opening?"

"Maybe. I don't know. All I know is Quinn worries all the time that you're not being completely honest with her."

"And you share that opinion."

"I do."

Rachel pursed her lips and nodded slowly.

"Are you?"

"Santana, I wish everything was just black and white. But life isn't like that."

"Bullshit. Don't talk to me about life. I come from the poorer section of this town. And don't treat Quinn like a child. She's probably gone through worse things than you."

"The way she acted earlier isn't helping your case, Santana. She _can_ be very immature."

"And so are _you._ Hiding things from her isn't the most mature act in the world."

"You're assuming that I _am_ hiding things."

"Aren't you?"

"Like I said, I _am_ trying, Santana. It's not easy for me to just open up to _anyone_."

"Q isn't just _anyone_."

"That's _why_ I am _trying_."

"Then _start_ by being there at the party."

"You're not being fair, Santana. This is my livelihood you're talking about."

"No, I'm talking about you letting Q in your life. You complain about the fact that she talks about me half of the time. How do you think I feel about her talking about _you_ all the time? Nothing exists anymore for Quinn except you, Rachel. I'm scared that when everything stops, she won't be able to recover from you."

"When it stops. You sound so sure it will."

"Considering how much you've been letting your self-preservation instincts rule your relationship with her? _You_ seem to be so sure it will."

"You're making a huge judgment about me just by knowing Quinn's side."

"I _am_ her best friend. I'm supposed to take her side. Except, if she starts physically hurting you. I don't condone that."

"She didn't. Don't worry."

"Yeah. But I'm also just saying _if_ she does."

"I understand." Rachel frowned as she wrung her hands together. "Do you think she's capable of hurting me that way?"

"I don't think I can answer that. You guys _need_ to talk about what happened. It's making me nervous, to be honest."

Nervous was an understatement. Quinn didn't show up for days, with Santana covering for her absence in school and Rachel frantically searching all possible locations the artist might have gone to. To say that Puck was pissed because of Rachel's refusal to go to work while looking for Quinn was also an understatement.

She wanted to file for missing person, but Santana insisted Quinn is just hiding somewhere. It led the older woman to conclude that the two younger girls were most likely communicating with one another. Too calm for someone whose best friend has gone AWOL.

That pissed her off.

Like Jamaica, Queens pissed.

On the fourth day, Rachel stormed in Quinn's home, ignoring a half-naked Santana on top of Brittany.

"What the fuck?" Santana fumbled over, quickly reached for her shirt and allowed the tall blonde to scamper away for cover. "Learn how to knock!"

Rachel invaded the Latina's personal space and pointed a finger at her. "I'm just going to say this once and _only_ once. If I find out that you are in cahoots with Quinn because of some demented notion of friendship in order to make me suffer—"

The Latina scoffed. "Sure, like what are you going to—"

"Let me tell you something. I've lived in the slums. I've dealt with every kind of scum in this world. I've escaped twelve police raids, five gang-related school shootings and one attempted sexual assault. All before I turned seventeen, _sweetheart_. I am tougher than you can imagine. So. Do _not_ make me repeat this question. Where. The. Fuck. Is. Quinn?"

Santana stood still as color drained from her face. She gulped then quietly handed over her cellphone to the fuming older woman.

"What's this?"

"Uhm, Quinn texted her whereabouts. The address is there."

"So, you've been seeing her."

"Yeah—but just once," the teenager quickly breathed out.

Rachel glared at the scared cheer leader for good measure before scrolling to read the message. "If you let Quinn know that I'm on my way to drag her ass back here—"

"I won't." Santana raised her right hand up. "I swear."

Rachel also swore she will never look for Quinn if she pulls another stunt like this again. Two hours and a off the beaten track travel, she found a property whose owner looked like they horded every single eccentric item in all of Nevada.

A hippie-looking woman walked over to her. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Rachel smiled. "I'm looking for Quinn."

"I'm sorry, but—"

Rachel groaned softly. "Please. I know Quinn has been hiding here all this time. I _need_ to speak with her."

"You are?"

"Rachel, Quinn's girlfriend." She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "And I'm pretty sure she's banned me from the premises. But if you could just _please…" _She sighed loudly. "I'm worried about her."

"You shouldn't be worrying about her, dear."

"No offense, but I don't know you and your relation to Quinn. I have the right to worry."

"Well, for transparency's sake, I'm Quinnie's aunt," the woman smiled widely. "Judy's sister, Peggy."

Rachel eyed the woman suspiciously. "She's never mentioned an Aunt Peggy to me."

"She's never mentioned a girlfriend named Rachel to me. So we're even," the woman replied with a teasing smile.

"Look…Peggy," Rachel breathed deeply. "If you could just please bring me to Quinn—"

"She's out to run errands for me. Sweet little kid, I tell you. If you really are her girlfriend, you should consider yourself lucky." Peggy nodded then motioned Rachel to follow her.

Rachel waited for the older woman to turn her back before rolling her eyes before mouthing off "sweet little kid, my ass."

"She should be back in, I would say, half an hour."

It took only a few minutes, however, for the two women to warm up to each other. After the shaky introductions, Rachel finally saw the glaring similarities –physically and personality-wise—with Quinn.

A calmer, blonde version of her girlfriend.

Equally eccentric and undeniably artistic like Quinn.

A cup of tea and several stories about the artist's childhood later, Rachel heard the sound of a vehicle pulling over.

"That must be Quinnie."

"I hope so," Rachel whispered.

"Aunt Peggy? I'm back. I couldn't find—Rachel."

"Well, she's right here, honey," Peggy laughed.

"Quinn," Rachel stood up.

"How did you know—"Quinn shook her head. "Santana."

"I strong-armed my way. Don't get mad at her."

Peggy took the grocery bags from Quinn and chuckled. "You never told me you have such a lovely girlfriend."

"I don't."

Peggy's smile froze. "Honey, you're being rude."

"I'm not, Aunt Peggy. I'm stating a fact."

Rachel looked up and grumbled. "So. You just broke up with me without notice. Great. Really great. The least you could have done was to inform me, so I didn't have to drive all the way here."

"The _least _you could have done was to inform _me_ about your schedule, so I didn't have to make plans over the holidays."

"You're breaking up with me because of _that_?"

"I'm breaking up with you because I'm _not_ your priority. Ever."

Rachel pulled her hair in frustration. "I have cut down my work days _and_ hours, Quinn. What more do you want from me?"

"We live next to each other yet I barely see you except on weekends. And when we _are_ together, we don't go out on dates. We went out, _twice._ I want to have a normal relationship for once in my life, Rachel. But I just keep stumbling into unusual dynamics and set-ups. I'm _tired_. I just. I just want to able to do the things everyone else does for a change."

"You want normal? Go date someone your age that has so much time in her hands and nothing to worry about. I've had it with you whining all the time when _you_," Rachel jabbed her finger at Quinn's chest. "Were the one who pursued me despite knowing I have work and a schedule to keep. I have adjusted to every single demand you have and you _still_ find something to complain about. I have _not_ gone back to work because I have wasted the days looking for you. So, you know what? Fine. Go find a girlfriend who caters to your whims every single time."

She walked away.

She walked out without saying goodbye to Peggy.

She left and ignored the wounded expression on Quinn's face.

And with every step, she had hoped for Quinn to run after her but knew she was asking too much.

Or maybe not.

She let out a sigh of relief when she heard Quinn call her name.

Then she felt her throat constrict when Quinn pulled her in for an embrace. "I'm sorry," the young artist whispered. "I don't want to break up with you."

"Then why the hell would you say we're over?" Rachel bawled out.

"I'm mad at you."

"Just because you're mad at me doesn't mean—"

"I know…I know…I'm really sorry."

"And I'm really, _really_ mad at you, too."

"I know."

"Come home with me."

"Stay the night."

"I suppose. It _is_ late and…why in the world did you aunt choose to live here?"

"It's away from everyone," Quinn shrugged. "She doesn't have to deal with people."

"And she has no family?"

"Oh, she has three, actually. Just all grown up and in different parts of the world."

"Husband?"

"Never cared to have one. She's awfully suspicious of marriage as a legal institution."

"Do you share that view?"

"A few months ago, I would have said yes."

Rachel traced the artist's lips with her finger. "Now?"

"_Really_ suspicious."

The brunette laughed and playfully swatted Quinn's arm. "Noted. We should eventually live in Texas where we'll never have a chance to get married."

"Oh ye of little faith." The artist turned pensive and held an intense gaze. "I'm really sorry…for everything. The way I reacted when you told me…I—Uhm, I don't have an excuse. I mean, I _did_ tell you before that as long as I have you, I'm—"

"Quinn, you have every right to be upset. But," Rachel threaded her fingers on Quinn's hair. "I am concerned about how you expressed it. I'll be very honest with you. I was so scared. I thought you were going to hit me."

The younger girl pursed her lips and twisted them. "I don't—I'm not—I've never," Quinn shook her head and was in the brink of crying. "I just sometimes, I get so frustrated and…I feel like words—they're…they're not enough. I'm never heard."

"I _hear_ you, Quinn. I _listen_ to you. I just…can't give you what you want right now."

The artist blinked back her tears. "When?"

"When what?"

"When will you be able to give me what I want? I don't…I don't want our relationship to have a part-time status. I don't want to be your parking space for the weekends. It makes me sympathetic of my father's mistress."

Gasping loudly, Rachel immediately cupped Quinn's face and stared into her eyes. "You're _not_ that to me. Quinn, I told you you're everything that I have ever dreamt of. Do you remember when you said you're so sure of this? That I'm the only one for you?"

"Yeah…"

"I feel the same. You're _it_. I can't imagine my life without you. I'm almost there, Quinn. I'm…I'm working things out. Next year will be different, I promise. You'd get sick of spending every minute with me."

"I'd rather have that than constantly missing you."

"After New Year's eve…I need to, uhm, sit down with you and talk."

The artist shrugged. "Why not now?"

Rachel smiled but swallowed nervously. "Because…I need time to gather my thoughts."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"No—well, that will depend on your perspective. But. Just to ease your mind a bit. It's about our future together." The brunette held her girlfriend's hands and placed them over her chest. "Because I _want_ to have a future with you."

Quinn's lips quirked upwards. "Does that mean you're going with me to San Francisco?"

"I definitely would like for that to happen. Wherever you choose to go for college, I'll be with you."

"Hey. Maybe you can take up a few subjects, as well. I mean—uhm."

Rachel chuckled. "You know that's fine with me, right? I'm not ashamed that I didn't get to finish high school. So, you don't have to feel embarrassed bringing that up. And I _could_ take the GED. I don't see any harm in that."

"You'll ace it. You're so smart."

"Speaking of education, you've been absent for days now."

"Yeah."

"I seriously don't want you to fail, Quinn. I know you get bored easily and you hate how everything is so structured. But—"

"But it's Christmas break next week. So, I'll just go back this January."

"I'm beginning to doubt the standards of your school."

"When your father donates a lot to the athletics program…"

"Ah," the brunette smiled and shook her head. "I get it."

"And since I can't have you over the break…"

"Don't say that, Quinn. You _have_ me. If you can wait, we can still celebrate Christmas and New Year together after work."

The artist chewed her lower lip. "Mmm…okay. I guess that's good enough."

"Really? Just good enough?"

"Okay, best compromise. Ever."

It was. As far as Rachel was concerned. At least she didn't have such a miserable time at work. It was bad enough that she Quinn was probably sulking with Santana on Christmas Eve. It would have been worse if she was hired—for the whole goddamn week—by some sleazeball who would attempt to feel her up every single second.

Mikhail Ivanov was the kind of client who paid just because he can and because he was told he should. Rachel long suspected he never really cared for hiring escorts, but because his companions did so, he also had to have one. He was the kind of man who constantly tried to up the ante in order to impress others. He is, in Rachel's book, her ideal client.

Very little work for very huge tips.

He tipped Rachel just because she wore a red cocktail dress on as requested.

He gave Rachel a bonus for the night just because he liked her perfume.

He gave her a wad of money inside an envelope just because it's Christmas.

But she wasn't too happy with the planned itinerary.

Too many parties with business executives. She had a bad feeling about it.

And her instincts never failed her.

That night while the big barbeque/charity event was happening, Rachel kept herself entertained by silently counting the number of men inside the hotel ballroom who became her client. Fifteen so far. She smiled to herself disparagingly.

Not bad, Rachel. Not bad at all.

None of them had the gall to look her way.

Except one man. The one person who recognized her, not for being Camila Santiago, but for who she really was.

Russell Fabray.

She felt it. She knew someone's eyes were boring holes in her back. Turning around, she was Quinn's father staring at her with such intensity but lacking expression in his face.

"Oh, god."

Mikhail leaned closer and whispered to her. Russell narrowed his eyes.

Then realization hit the older Fabray.

Rachel quickly excused herself and followed Russell towards the hall. She found the man confused, pacing around and wiping his face with his hand.

Russell raised a finger close to her face. "Give me one good reason for me not to hit you hard enough that my daughter won't be able to recognize you."

"Please let me explain, sir. Please. "

"My daughter," the man said in hushed anger. "Is dating a whore. I knew it. I knew I saw you before. You were hired by my client."

"Please, just give me—"

"Is Quinn aware of this?"

Rachel closed her eyes and lowered her head in defeat. "No, sir. She's not."

"How dare you use her to—"

"Use her? Mr. Fabray, I lo—"

"Don't you say that," Russell warned. "Don't you dare say that. You think I will let her have any inheritance by….by being with _you_? Go find yourself a different escape route. Or better yet, how much do you want to stay away from my daughter's life?"

Rachel was taken aback and forced herself to recover from the shock. "_Sir,_ with all due respect, I don't need to be with Quinn for money. You can very well see how much I earn from _whoring_ myself."

Russell flinched in disgust.

"You are such a hypocrite."

"Excuse me?" the older Fabray growled. "You are calling me a—"

"Yes, I am. You're pretending _now_ that you care about Quinn?"

"And so are _you_. What is it that you wanted to say earlier? You love her? Yet, she doesn't have a single clue of who you really are."

Rachel breathed deeply. "I will tell her."

"You better damn tell her or I will."

"Please, don't do that. Do you have any idea how much it will break her heart if she finds out through you?"

"Then tell her tonight. And then leave her."

"And what if she doesn't want me to leave?"

"You will leave. Because if you do care about Quinn—can you see her future? Can you honestly say she will not be hurt if you encounter a past client? How will she deal with it when people find out about your…career? She has so much potential, and you will only bring her down."

Of course.

Out of all the times Russell had ignored Quinn, he had to choose now to make up for it.

And he made sense.

A lot of sense.

Mikhail was only relieved when Rachel told her of a personal emergency she needed to go to. Truthfully, he was more interested in a conversation he was holding with his bodyguard and the bartender's tattoo on his wrist. He found an excuse to be female-free for the night and was more than happy to send Rachel off in his rented limousine.

Quinn knew someone important arrived at the party. There were whispers and a few whistles. She saw the flashy limo pull over and a stunning woman stepped out.

"Quinn, woah. That's your girlfriend right?"

"Holy shit. Dying of envy."

"Love the shoes."

Quinn had a dopey smile on her face as Rachel sauntered over to her. "Hey there, gorgeous. Glad you can make it."

**A/N: I hear angst approaching noisily. Thank you for your time. Hope you're having a great Faberry week!**

**A/N 2: I may have to break my own promise of updating weekly for the next two weeks. I've got a very important exam coming and I would need all the time in the world to study. I will be back with a vengeance. **


	10. Chapter 10

"_Hey there, gorgeous. Glad you can make it."_

The subwoofers were in full blast, playing some bass-dominated music all over the venue. But Rachel only heard her own heart beating, ready to break free and run away. She smiled at her girlfriend. "I didn't want to make any promises."

Quinn nodded, leaned closer and spoke gently into the brunette's ear. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'd very much want that," Rachel murmured before clasping her hand securely with Quinn's. "But don't leave me alone here. I don't like the way some of those boys are unabashedly leering at me."

"They're harmless," Quinn grinned. She nonetheless reassured the brunette by wrapping her arm around Rachel's waist and quickly guiding her to the open bar.

"Are they serving you—"

"Uh, no. The beneficiaries are here. So…later, in a couple of hours when they're gone."

"Ah. When the party _really_ begins."

Quinn nodded once with a smirk plastered on her face. "_But_. You can always get two glasses of…whatever it is you're having."

The brunette smiled coyly. "I'm not _that_ thirsty."

"But I am," Quinn whined. "Come on."

"Ohh," Rachel nodded several times and threw the artist a knowing look. "Patience. You can wait for a couple of hours."

"Rachel."

"Quinn."

"Please?"

The brunette sighed dramatically. "Fine. But only if you take me somewhere more…private."

Quinn's eyebrow shot high while a devious grin started to grow slowly.

"So we can talk," Rachel clarified before kissing the artist's cheek as a preemptive strike. "There's something we—I need to discuss with you."

"Oh," Quinn pouted playfully. "Right now? But we might miss Santana's speech."

"We'll—I promise this won't take long. I just…I need to tell you something really important."

"So important that it can't wait?"

"I'm afraid so."

"It's never good news when your partner wants to talk," Quinn sighed.

The artist turned around and began walking at a slow pace, allowing Rachel to follow at a safe distance. Quinn led them inside the mansion and continued to walk quietly all the way up to a terrace overlooking the city.

"Are we—is it okay that we just went up here?"

"Yeah."

"You know the owners?"

"Yeah."

"Quinn."

"What?"

"Are you sure?"

"You're looking at _her_, Rachel," the artist laughed and pulled the astonished brunette closer. "Like the view?"

"Mhm." The older woman cuddled as a cold gust of air passed through them. She held Quinn tighter in silence. With every second that elapsed, she committed to memory the younger girl's scent, her body's contours and the feel of her warm, silky skin.

Rachel needed to remember, and she was grateful that Quinn seemed to understand because the girl stood quietly and gently kissed her neck repeatedly. The older woman knew, however, that she needed to let go at a certain point.

The brunette swallowed roughly and licked her lips. "Quinn. We—this is the best time for us to talk."

"So much for distracting you," the artist said with a playful smile.

Rachel returned the smile before taking a step back. "There's something you need to know about me. When you talk about our future together…I want to have them, too, Quinn. So badly, that I changed my plans I've been carefully building for the last ten years of my life."

"What plans?"

Lolling her head from side to side with a smirk on her face, Rachel mumbled, "Hawaii. I've always wanted to live on the beach."

"Oh. Well, we can—"

"Nope. It's San Francisco we're gonna go to. If…" Rachel closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "If things go well after tonight."

"You're making me _really_ nervous right now, Rach."

The brunette chuckled lowly and kissed Quinn. "Me too."

"You're shaking," the artist mumbled as she held on to Rachel's hands. "Everything's gonna be okay, Rach."

Lowering her head to hide her tears, Rachel placed their clasped hands over her chest. "Quinn…I've been…I've been lying all this time."

She felt the artist's hand squeeze hers tightly. "W-what, what do you mean?"

"I'm not—I don't run a travel agency with Puck."

She heard a faint gasp. She almost wailed at the loss of contact, only to moan in relief after being pulled into a tight embrace.

"Rachel—"

"I…we _have_ been business partners over the decade…but it's not—we never—please believe me that meeting you was the last thing I ever expected. Understand that I had to survive in New York against all odds. I wanted to—I thought I could just pretend it will go away once I stop. I was stupid and—"

"Rachel," Quinn interrupted again and nudged the older woman's chin upwards. "You're rambling."

"Right…okay…I'm prolonging the agony."

"Rach…look, if you're into," Quinn looked around and whispered, "Selling drugs—"

"What? No. Quinn. I would _never_ sell drugs—"

"We can leave the state—no, the country— now. I'll take care of us—"

"Quinn, I'm _not_ into _that_ business. I was adamantly against you using that, remember?"

"Yeah…but it does make sense that you'd get mad at me because you _know_ how dangerous—"

"No, Quinn. Just. No. Okay? I've _never_ sold drugs to anyone. Ever."

"Okay…" Quinn said with a hesitant tone.

"Quinn…you…it's like this…"

"Rachel, just please tell me."

"I'manescort."

"You're a—"Quinn squinted and furrowed her brows. "I'm sorry, I don't think I—"

"An escort," Rachel mumbled slowly this time. "A high-class escort."

"An…escort."

"Yes. I've been…since my mother died."

"You're…you're…an…"

The loss of contact, this time, was not temporary. The first step away from her was the most painful. She felt number as Quinn took several more steps away.

"Quinn…"

"Like…you escort…men. You're…you've been…whenever you go to work…you're with a man."

"Let me explain something—"

"You…" Quinn covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. Rachel had wished she stayed that way, for the moment the younger girl stared intensely at her with controlled rage, the brunette wanted to jump off the terrace. "You come home to me, and kiss me, and make love to me. But you've been in the company of _men_ before you do _all_ those things to me?"

"Quinn, that's not how—"

"Then tell me what it is! Because I'm not too sure I quite understand how you can whisper my name the way you have been doing when you've been…you've been…oh god." Quinn lifted her hand once again and covered her mouth while using her other hand to clutch her stomach. "How could you have hidden that from me?"

"I don't…I have no defense, Quinn. Except I wanted so badly to be with you, the fear of losing you was stronger than my desire to come clean. And I…there's a part of me that hoped you would just accept me."

"Accept you?" The young artist shrieked. "When I don't even know this…this woman in front of me!"

"Quinn!" Rachel's arms flailed wildly. "This is still _me_! I'm _still_ your Rachel."

"_My_ Rachel? How many of us actually _own _and _share_ you?"

It only took a nanosecond.

Quinn's left cheek burned and her neck strained from the impact of Rachel's palm connecting to her face. The artist gradually recovered from the shock and gazed at the brunette with remorse. "Ra—"

"You can call me a liar, or a bitch, because I _am _guilty of not being honest to you," Rachel hissed. "But don't you _ever_ think you can belittle me. I had _nothing_ after my mother was killed. Things could have gone really bad for me. So, while I'm not proud of what I do, Quinn, I'm also _not_ going to stand here and let you trample on my dignity. It's what kept me alive."

"I'm so—"

"Don't, Quinn. I should…" Rachel closed her eyes let out a shaky breath. "I should be the one apologizing. And I really am _so_ sorry. I can't justify what I did. I kept acting based on my instinct to…do everything I can to keep you. I didn't want to lose you. I've been burned before, you know that."

Quinn nodded dumbly in understanding why Rachel's ex-boyfriends seemed to have left her abruptly. She slowly sat down on the floor and hugged her knees, before looking up at Rachel with wide-eyed confusion. "I told you I'm not like them. I'm not."

"Really? Because how you reacted—"

"You kept it from me, Rachel. What kind of reaction did you expect me to have?"

The brunette knelt down in front of Quinn. "I know. I'm sorry. That was unfair."

"What's gonna happen now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you quitting? If you're worried about money, Rach, I have—"

"Quinn, we need to end this."

"This? As in us? No! Rachel," Quinn gasped and fumbled to reach for the older woman's hands. "You can't!"

"Quinn, I'm doing this for you."

"That's stupid! I don't want us to break up! Rachel! You're being stupid!"

"Am I? Quinn, just a few minutes ago, you could hardly look at me and it seemed like you were about to get sick."

"I'll get—I'm over it."

Rachel laughed softly. "Kiss me."

"W-what?"

"Kiss me, Quinn. You said you're over it."

"I…yeah, I am." The artist licked her lips and swallowed visibly before leaning an inch closer.

Then she stopped and looked away. "I'm sorry, but I can't right now," the artist whispered then broke down.

"I know," Rachel whispered back. "It's okay. Don't apologize, Quinn."

It hurt.

It hurt to see Quinn so fragile and vulnerable.

Intuitively, Rachel reached out to hold the younger girl, but the image of Quinn looking at her as if she was the most repugnant person kept her hand frozen in mid-air. "I should…I should leave."

"Please don't."

"Quinn," Rachel sighed. "You're young."

The artist glared at the brunette before standing up. "What the hell does that mean? You're not even thirty!"

"It means don't waste your time on someone like me. It means you'll get over me—"

"Don't. You. Say that!"

"Quinn—"

"No! Okay? No!" Quinn was livid. She pulled her hair and growled in frustration. "This is crazy talk, Rachel. I _just_ need time to get over the fact that you hid things from me and what your job is. Just give me _that_. I love you, okay?"

"And I love you, too," Rachel whispered. "And that's why I'm going to do what is best for you."

"Please, Rachel."

"I'm sorry." The brunette lunged forward and held Quinn tightly. "I'm so sorry, Quinn. For everything."

"Please, don't. Rachel, don't do this. Please."

Rachel felt the artist's arms tighten around her. She felt Quinn's body shake uncontrollably. She felt everything.

She wanted nothing else but to hold her lover's body all night.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to let you go."

She had to.

And she did.

There was no pink-haired girl running after her this time, as both knew this wasn't part of the games they played.

Rachel found Santana and pulled her aside. "Take care of Quinn."

The Latina's rare festive mood faded away in an instant. "What happened?"

"I need to head back to work. I don't have time to explain. Just. Promise me, Santana. Look after her."

Santana surveyed Rachel's disheveled appearance then nodded. "Are _you_ gonna be alright?"

"I will be. Thank you…for asking. She's…upstairs. Terrace."

The cheerleader once again nodded before making a dash towards the house.

Rachel went home as quickly as possible and broke down. She kept chanting the words "this is for Quinn" in her head.

That became her prayer.

She needed something to hold on to in order to survive because the next few days would be the toughest.

She thought of staying over at Puck's house, but she suddenly remembered her friend's confession. The last thing she needed was to be with a man who harbored deep feelings for her at the hour of absolute vulnerability.

She also didn't want to leave because she wanted to see Quinn walk in her own apartment. She was worried, to say the least, as to what the artist will do. She's heard and seen enough about the girl's erratic behavior when things don't go her way. Her heart started pounding loudly as she let her imagination run wild.

"Quinn, please don't do anything stupid," she whispered to herself while clutching her chest and stared at the artist's door from her apartment window.

She failed to sleep. Because Quinn didn't come home.

She saw Santana drive back alone at dusk and intuitively looked up to see Rachel. The Latina carried an apologetic expression, silently telling Rachel that she tried her best.

The older woman nodded and gave the cheerleader a weak smile before heading to bed. She would rather sleep now and dream a bad dream than face reality.

And in her dream, she saw Quinn enraged and calling her all sorts of names. She felt Quinn hit her over and over, accuse her of being a gold digger, and left her bloodied on the floor. After a few moments of respite, she heard Quinn come back only to witness the young girl's face morph into Russell's and began tearing her clothes off.

She screamed then jerked up. Rachel cried as soon as she realized she was alone in her room. "God," she mumbled to herself while clutching her pillow.

She got up after realizing she was late for work.

Work.

She laughed despite herself.

Puck would be so goddamn happy her early retirement would be delayed for a few months.

She was glad that the recession has brought down real estate prices and she found no acceptable offer for her property in Hawaii.

She was destined to leave the mainland, she convinced herself.

Rachel had no idea when Quinn got back, but the pink-haired girl was zealously waiting outside her apartment.

The older woman tried to ignore the artist and walked swiftly towards her car.

"Rachel," Quinn muttered while trying to block the brunette's way. "Rachel, please talk to me."

"Quinn, there's nothing to talk about anymore."

"Yes, there is."

The young girl's voice was quivering. It further shattered Rachel's heart. This wasn't how it was suppose to be. Quinn should be mad. Quinn should be ignoring her. Quinn shouldn't be following her around like a lovesick puppy. She needed Quinn to be furious.

"Rachel," the artist pleaded once more when she got no response from the woman. "I love you. We can get past this."

"No, okay? No," Rachel snapped. "It's over, Quinn."

"Why are you doing this? I told you I just need time."

"How much time do you need, hmm?"

"I…I don't know. But I promise, I will get over it."

"No, you won't, Quinn. You won't. When we're in a gathering, you'll constantly wonder who among those men glancing my way was a client. I don't think we'll ever achieve the same level of intimacy again, because you'll exactly wonder what I've done with them."

"What _exactly_ have you done?"

Rachel scoffed then shook her head. "Would you believe me if I say nothing? Will you honestly find it in your heart to trust me when I say I've never let anyone kiss me on the lips, let alone do anything sexual?"

Quinn's eyes widened then puffed out air, which Rachel took as a sign of relief. "You've not—you never?"

"Never. But that doesn't change the fact that my job is sexual in nature. Can you accept that? When I'm out at night, will you be able to feel comfortable knowing I am with someone who would constantly try to stroke my leg or feel my ass?"

"I thought—I thought you're quitting. That's what you told me before. I mean, yeah, you said travel agency. But—but you said things would be different come January. So, you're quitting, right?"

"What if I'm not? Can you accept that?"

"I—I will, Rachel. Please trust me. Please. I can do this."

"No, Quinn. You're only going to be hurt."

"And what do you think I'm feeling right now?"

"It'll get better."

Quinn stiffened at this and Rachel took it as an opportunity to walk away.

"How can you just dismiss me this way, Rachel?"

The brunette stopped on her tracks and swallowed in realization. She was just as bad as anyone else in Quinn's life.

Rachel closed her eyes and took the most painful first step she's ever taken. The second was easier. The third one kept her going until she reached her car.

She couldn't concentrate all night. She was stuck in Puck's office. She had no client because Puck didn't book her anymore for the week. That was the awful plan. In an ideal world, she would be looking for possible apartments in San Francisco by this time. But instead, she was caught between remembering Quinn's worrisome appearance before the drove off, and browsing through photos and profiles of potential recruits.

The artist kept coming back. It was their new routine for the whole month. Morning and evening, like clockwork, Quinn was at her doorstep, pleading for Rachel to take her back.

There was just something innately wrong with this situation, the brunette thought. _She_ should be the one pleading for Quinn to take her back. It wasn't the young girl that created a web of deception. But Quinn was acting as if she was the one who screwed up.

But there was nothing Rachel could do, except allow the younger girl to go on until she got tired. The escort was convinced that at a certain point, Quinn's attention would shift to something else.

That seemed to have arrived around March when Quinn literally dropped off her radar. With the exception of still being in the same apartment complex, the young girl acted like Rachel was a total stranger. The brunette began seeing that blonde teenager—Quinn's booty call if she remembered correctly—hanging out in the apartment more often.

That stung.

She didn't know whether she should be relieved or cry.

It didn't take much for her to make a decision when she regretfully peaked through her window and saw Quinn assaulting the other girl with her lips while the skank's hands were on the artist's rear end right outside the door.

A few days later, it was a different girl.

A week later, another girl had Quinn pinned against the kitchen window.

The young girl was out of control. If Santana's increasing number of texts to Rachel—letting her know what Quinn was up to— was any indication, the escort knew the Latina felt helpless and desperate.

She was at Rachel's apartment early on a Sunday morning. Sipping some coffee, the older woman saw the worry in Santana's face.

"She comes home _really_ high on weed. I don't know if I should be glad it's just marijuana and nothing else."

Rachel sighed. "She shouldn't be straightening up just for me, Santana. She should be avoiding those things simply because it's not going to do her any good, not to make me happy."

"I know that. But it doesn't help that she feels you've abandoned her."

"I didn't—that's not how she's supposed to take it."

The Latina rolled her eyes. "Have you ever tried telling someone 'they're in a better place now, be happy' when a loved one just died?"

"No…but I had people tell me that when my mom died."

"How did _that_ feel?"

"Horrible."

"And you think, Quinn would just simply accept that what you did was good for her?"

"That's not—"

"It's the _same_. She lost you. She feels that she's not going to get you back again. It's Frannie all over again, don't you get it? She's the only person Quinn treasured most, and she left Q. For her, you're no different from her sister or parents or her friends who have all abandoned her. And if you think what you did won't be a trigger for Quinn to self-destruct, you're being stupid and naïve."

"Santana—"

"So she felt grossed out when she found out about your job. Big fucking deal, Rachel. Who wouldn't? Put yourself in her position. Would you just say, 'oh, my girlfriend is paid by men for her _company_. Cool'. Would you?"

"No…no, I guess I wouldn't. Which is exactly the point, Santana. She would never be able to accept that."

"You refuse to give her a chance."

"I don't want to further get hurt," Rachel finally admitted. "Because I don't think I can take it if she ends up leaving me because she realized she could never accept me and what I do. I can't."

"So, this has nothing to do with Quinn and what is good for her," Santana sneered and stood up. "You're protecting yourself, you selfish bitch."

With that, Rachel was left alone, wallowing in self-pity and anger. It would be like this until the first week of April when Quinn surprised the brunette with a bouquet of flowers.

"Quinn."

"Hey," the artist smiled. "Can I come in?"

"Uhm, yes, sure."

"These are for you, by the way."

Rachel hesitantly received the bouquet. "Thank you. These are beautiful."

"Only fitting."

The older woman pursed her lips. "I, uhm, I have to leave in a few minutes."

Quinn nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, sure."

"How much for your services?"

It was as if Rachel was doused with ice-cold water. That was the last thing she had ever expected to come out of Quinn's mouth.

"I-I'm sorry?"

"I realize I don't stand a chance anymore to be your girlfriend," Quinn mumbled and quirked her lip upwards. "So, I guess, I just have to settle for something else."

"Quinn, we can't—"

"I miss you, Rachel. I miss talking to you, kissing you…making love to you. I don't know what else to do."

"Quinn…"

"How much for an hour?"

"Quinn, I know that most people don't understand the difference, but I'm an escort, not a prostitute."

"I _know_ the difference. I'm asking for your rate."

There was no escaping this.

"1,500 dollars. For two hours. That's the minimum and without tip."

Quinn rummaged her jean pocket then put up her hand with dollar bills. "I've got two thousand. So I get two hours?"

"Quinn", the brunette chuckled sardonically, "I don't know where you got that money, and besides, I don't take minors for—"

"I'm _not_ a minor"

"You're seventeen."

"Not anymore."

"It's…it's your birthday?" Rachel mentally slapped herself for forgetting. It was the least of her concern these days.

"Yeah," Quinn mumbled with her eyes firmly locked on the brunette's. "My parents gave me the money. So I can celebrate however I want to," she smiled and shook her head. "And this is how I want to celebrate it."

Frowning, Rachel stared at the wad of money gripped by Quinn. "You should be celebrating it with your parents and friends."

"Don't you _get_ it?", the younger girl exclaimed in frustration. "My parents don't _care_. My parents are participating in a wife-swapping event because that's what they _do_."

Rachel's eyes softened at the young girl in front of her. "That's…that's…"

"That's what?"

The brunette shook her head and sighed. "Nothing."

"I've lived in Las Vegas all my life, Rachel. How long have you been here?"

Rachel knew it was a rhetorical question, but couldn't stop herself from answering anyway.

"Three."

"Long enough for you to realize everyone's a freak here. Freak is normal. No one even bothers to take a second glance at me because, guess what? This?"Quinn points at her heavily dyed hair. "This is nothing."

Of course. Rachel knew that. That wasn't the point of her reaction. She made a deal with Russell. She'll tell Quinn and break things up, but he would also have to do his part as a parent. Quinn adored her father, and to hear him do this to Quinn again made her furious.

"What about Santana?"

"What about her?"

"Why aren't you with her?"

"Because I told her I'm having dinner with you," Quinn mumbled and for the first time broke eye contact.

"Quinn…" Rachel sighed again. "I can't."

"When can you?" Quinn looked up and gazed at the woman expectantly. "I'll wait. You go by appointment, huh? So when? Do I have to call up that dude you call Puck?"

Quinn has always doubted the existence of Puck. She never met him, nor seen a photo of him.

"Quinn, no. You don't understand. I'm not taking you in as a customer. I refuse to."

"Why?" the younger girl asked in a broken voice. "I can pay."

"And I have the right to choose whom I want to transact with. Just because you can pay, doesn't mean I'll accept a deal."

"You'd rather go with perverted Japanese businessmen than with me?"

When Rachel offered no answer, Quinn stuffed her money inside her pocket and slowly turned away.

"Quinn, please don't leave."

"Why?"

"We'll celebrate your birthday. You told Santana you're having dinner with me? Then, let's have dinner. My treat. "

Quinn opened her mouth to say something but got distracted by a buzzing sound coming from a cellphone. She glanced to her right and saw Rachel's phone lit up on the table.

Rachel aped Quinn's actions and stared at her phone before turning to look back at the young girl. "Don't mind that."

"Customer?"

"Forget about that. Let's go.", Rachel smiled. "Where do you want to eat?"

The pink-haired girl shook her head. "I don't want your pity," she whispered before running out of the brunette's apartment.

Rachel Berry, epic screw-up.

That's what she screamed after storming inside Puck's office that night.

She didn't even _have _a client. She's semi-retired. She volunteered to act as training officer. What a title. At least she wasn't out with men anymore.

Not that it mattered now.

Not that it ever will.

Not until Puck called her up mid-morning and told her to be in the office right away.

"What? I'm not yet needed. I'm busy."

"With what?"

"Feeding cats."

"Fuck. Just get here, Rachel. You need to deal with this."

"With what?"

"Just get the fuck down here."

She hated it when she had to deal with whiny girls who think this job was the easiest thing in the world. She hated having to pep talk them into taking in clients thrice their age. Did they really expect George Clooney to hire escorts?

She sighed upon seeing Puck outside his office, pacing back and forth.

"Puck. This better be damn important."

The man licked his lips nervously. "I haven't—there's no way I would just accept her to work here without you knowing first."

Her eyes widened in shock before barging in the office. She was literally taken aback by what she saw. "Quinn?"

It was a different kind of Quinn.

Quinn smiled and stood up.

"You're…you're…"

The artist chuckled and ducked her head. "I'm what?"

"B-blonde! What the hell did you do?"

"Funny. Most people think it's hot. Though, I almost killed S when she choked on her breakfast bagel."

"A-and you're," Rachel took in the rest of Quinn's appearance. "…not punk."

The artist nodded. "I don't think I'd be accepted here if I didn't ditch that look."

"No, you're _not_ getting a job here! What's wrong with you?"

Quinn shrugged then glanced at Puck. "_He_ said I'm perfect for the job. He said I'm gorgeous and hot. I know my manners, arts, languages. I'll be—"

"No!" Rachel turned around and punched Puck in the arm. "What the hell? Did _you_ really say that to her?"

"Just saying the truth! It was an honest assessment, Rachel." Puck ran towards the safety of his desk, sat down and cleared his throat. "Okay, so. Quinn walked in this morning and—"

"No! No! No!" Rachel screamed. "No one's applying to be an escort! Quinn, go home."

Quinn smirked then crossed her legs. "Uhm, for your information, Rachel. You can't tell me what to do. I'm no longer a minor. I can apply for a job like this." She smiled at Puck in a flirtatious manner. "So, when do I start?"

"No, you won't start, Quinn." Rachel slammed her hands on the table and glared at the man behind it. "Puck, I can't believe you would do this to me!"

"Hey. I'm a businessman. I know a real gem when I see it. And Quinn," he waggled his eyebrows at the young girl. "Well, let's just say, she's gonna be my ticket to the big time."

"Things would have been easier if you just let me be your client."

Puck raised his eyebrows. "See, I didn't know _that_ part."

Rachel snapped her head towards Quinn's direction and was almost shattered at the girl's neutral tone and expression.

"Interestingly, Miss Fabray," Puck chimed in. "I _was_ planning on a promo. First timers get a ten percent discount. I'll apply that to you, simply because I like you."

"But Rachel refuses to."

"I _have_ other girls you can choose from."

Quinn grinned widely.

"There are two kinds. One would be the straight up, she will keep you company all night, _but_. No monkey business. The other, well."

"I'll choose from the latter."

"What? Quinn, why are you doing this?" Rachel gazed at Quinn with pleading eyes but was ignored by the now blonde girl. "Puck. Out. Now."

The man stood up and shrugged. "Be back in a few minutes."

"Quinn," Rachel said after being left alone with the girl. "Quinn, this isn't funny."

"What makes you think this is a joke?"

"Because you can't possibly—"

"I can do whatever I want."

"How did you know where I work?"

"I followed you."

"You…you followed me."

Quinn's face softened and looked down. "If I can't have you, Rachel, I'll do anything to still keep you close. Anything. And I want to understand. I asked you for time to accept things, but you won't give that to me. I need to understand."

"So, you think by having the same job, you'd understand?"

"It'll be easier for me to accept."

Rachel looked up and shook her head. "If I let you be my client, will you promise me you won't pull out a stunt like this again?"

"Yeah…I promise."

"Just one night."

"I can't promise _that_. If I have money, I'll most probably spend it here."

"Why?"

Quinn sighed in exasperation. "I just said it, Rachel. If I can't have you, I'll take whatever's the next best thing."

Rachel relented. It was a tight situation she was in. She pushed Quinn to desperation and now she has to pay the price.

Puck pouted in disappointment upon knowing the agreement. "If you change your mind Quinn, come back," he said with a wink.

Rachel huffed then walked away from the two. Quinn simply smirked while watching the older woman leave the office. She shook the man's hand. "I can't believe it worked."

"I told you it will. Rachel cares about you so much; she would never let you do something like this."

"Thank you…for your help."

"Anytime."

"You love her."

"I do. But not as much as you do."

Quinn smiled at this. "I gotta go. I have a big date to plan."

"Good luck. And, Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"She has a thing for watches. Her most regular clients know this."

Quinn struggled to keep a smile on her face. Rachel's collection of watches made sense now. It hit her hard. She wasn't going on a date with Rachel.

She just hired an escort.

A/N: And I'm back.


	11. Chapter 11

"SANTANA!"

The Latina froze then dropped the television remote.

"SANTANA! GET IN HERE! NOW!"

"Jesus fucking…" Santana ran towards Quinn's bedroom and barged in. "What is wro—oh…my…god."

Quinn turned around; anxiety written all over her flushed red face. "Tell me I look good."

"I—Damn, Quinn." The smaller girl struggled to say something coherent. The young artist was wearing a little black dress with a surplice v-neckline and a drape front held together by an accent belt. "You look…you look…damn. Hot."

"I—really? You're not just trying to make me feel better?" The artist nervously ran her palms over her dress.

The cheerleader gaped and blinked. "No…you look…damn, Quinn. I don't even know what to say. You—wow."

A smile slowly formed on Quinn's lips. "Do I detect a touch of regret on your end?"

"A little," Santana admitted with a laugh. "So, maybe—hold up," the Latina raised her hand and stared at Quinn's feet. "Is _that_ a Christian Louboutin?"

"I think so? I just asked the sales lady to find me matching shoes for my dress."

"Baby," the raven-haired girl cooed and knelt down before caressing the crystal-embedded sandals. "I've wanted you since forever."

Quinn grimaced. "You're freaking me out, S. It's just a pair of shoes."

"_This _isn't just a pair of shoes. _This _is made by a god," the Latina huffed as she stood up.

"Well, then. I'll let you worship it once my date is over. But right now, you need to let go of them. I gotta look decent enough."

"Decent? Q. Decent isn't the right word to describe you right now."

"Finally found what to say?"

"Yeah, I'd say Rachel's on her way to sainthood if _she_ doesn't give in to this."

Quinn's face fell as dread ran through her body. "I don't know, S. This situation's just…fucked up."

"Hey. You're in it, now. Just make the most out of it."

"Make the most out of it? Seriously? I'm_ buying_ her time, S."

"Exactly. Every dollar counts."

"Geez. Easy for you to say that."

Santana started to snigger. "This is…I don't even know how you always manage to get yourself in bizarre situations. Do update me about what's happening because this is just," the Latina finally guffawed before raising her hands close to her chest when Quinn glared at her. "Really off the wall."

"Do you want me to live blog it?" Quinn drawled out with a deadpanned expression.

"With photos. Or it didn't happen."

"Hilarious," the blonde sighed before taking one last look at herself in the mirror. "I really look—"

"Perfect, Quinn. You look perfect. I swear."

"And my make-up?"

The other girl smiled and nodded with approval. "Looks like you learned a thing or two from being a Cheerio."

"The bitch made sure I looked nice." Quinn sneered at the memory of being smitten with a girl who betrayed her trust the moment she felt vulnerable.

Not like Rachel's any different, she sadly realized.

"The bitch is different from Rachel."

"Like, you're a mind-reader now?"

"I just know you well enough to read your expressions."

"But you don't like Rachel."

"As your girlfriend. But. I don't know, Q. Just don't compare her to the bitch. Those are very different contexts."

"Same result."

"So why are you running after Rachel?"

"Because I love her."

Santana smirked. "Like I said, don't compare the two."

"Whatever. Are you Team Winning Rachel back or what?"

"I'm Team Happiness for Quinn. Just be careful, alright? This isn't a wholesome game you're playing with her."

"I know," Quinn mumbled as she carefully placed the Tissot watch she picked up for Rachel in her purse.

This date alone cost her earnings from three commissioned paintings. She could have used her extension card, but something felt off about using her dad's account for her time with her ex-girlfriend. She had also hoped it would be more meaningful for the brunette if she finds out that it's from her own hard work.

Santana kept quiet while watching Quinn made last minute preparations; calling to double-check her reservation, deciding on a necklace and receiving the bouquet flowers she had ordered that morning. Her friend was going all out, and the Latina didn't have the heart to articulate her usual pessimism. She realized the artist needed a friend who will back her up, and who will be there when all else fails. Mostly, Quinn needed someone who would have faith in her decisions.

It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it.

"Hey, Quinn!" Santana called out through the kitchen. "Rachel's about to ride her car," the Latina stated while peeping through the window.

The blonde frowned then quickly stepped outside and ran towards Rachel. "Uhm, Rach? Aren't we, uh, I could drive us to dinner."

The brunette stared at her with an enigmatic expression. "We're meeting at the office."

"Huh? Why? We can go directly to the—"

"Quinn, that's the protocol with my clients. Technically, you're not supposed to know where I live. They always meet me at the office."

"Oh." The young artist furrowed her brows and nodded, slowly backing away from Rachel. "Right. I…uhm, seven, yeah? I'll, uh, I'll be there by that time."

Rachel nodded back curtly. "I'll see you, then."

The artist's shoulders fell in defeat. She looked up and winced at the dark clouds forming. "Great," she mumbled. Just what I need."

It was Murphy's Law that kicked in, and Quinn couldn't be more pissed at nature's way of telling her this plan sucked. She was fifteen minutes late and almost slipped and dropped her umbrella, resulting to an almost drenched appearance. Escorts piled up at the lobby of Puck and Rachel's office eyed her in curiosity as she marched straight to the ladies room.

She looked around with pleading eyes at the girls applying make-up. "Would anyone happen to bring a hair blower with them? None? Of course," she chuckled sadly when she was met with silence. "Why would the whole fucking world cooperate with me right now?" she stated while violently tugging a few sheets of hand towel. "I'm just minutes away from losing the love of my life complete. Which, actually, no—yeah, I've lost her. I just don't know when to fucking give up. So here I am, paying my way to spend time with her, looking like a wet hen when I'm already several minutes late and—"

"I have a blow dryer," a girl no older than Quinn said and gazed at her with sympathy. "I'll just get it in my car. Trish, why don't you help with her dress?"

A blonde girl raised her eyebrow. "Like how do you expect me to do that when you're just about to get—"

"It's called a hand dryer, genius," the first girl sighed. "Lend her a shirt or something while you dry her dress. I'll be back real quick."

Quinn sat down in the corner couch with an oversized shirt and jacket and watched the blonde meticulously run the dress, part by part, along the hand dryer nozzle. "This is an expensive brand," she said with wide eyes. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," Quinn mumbled. "Rachel's—"

"Rachel? As in Rachel Berry?"

"Yeah."

"_She's_ the so-called love of your life?" the first girl earlier chimed in as she walked closer to Quinn and plugged in the blower. "I'm Kerry, by the way. Trish, go tell Puck that Quinn's just ran in some problems but she's already in the office. He might cancel on her."

"Yeah," Quinn frowned and glared at her, rudely ignoring the girl's kind efforts. "Why? Something wrong with that?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong," Kerry chuckled. "Just that, I didn't realize she was with a young girl. Well, I didn't realize she's a lesbian."

"I don't think she owes anyone that information."

"Oh, of course not," Kerry smiled before turning on the blower. She started to fix Quinn's hair without permission and with very little protest on the artist's end. "But she's somewhat like a big sister to me. I mean…she'd always castigate me for getting in this line of work. Says I should be in college and that I can be so much more. So, I'm just a little surprised since I practically know her life story and she's never mentioned being attracted to girls."

The artist looked away with a pained expression. "Oh."

"Oh, hey. Don't misunderstand that. She never talks about her _present_ life."

"Sure. Uhm, why didn't you tell me right away you have that with you?"

"Because we probably all thought the same thing. You're a newbie. And no one likes to help newbies," Kerry said with a laugh.

"No, I'm on a date—uhm, no, well, I don't really know what to call this…this thing you're doing when you're out with, uhm—"

"Clients. We call it work, clients can call it anyway they want. So, if it's a date for you, then it's a date. Following limitations imposed by us? You can ask an escort to be whoever you want them to be and act accordingly."

Quinn studied the other girl's face that seemed to have been overcome by compassion. "What—what are Rachel's limitations?"

Kerry smiled with pursed lips. "Puck will orient you." She turned Quinn around to face the mirror. The artist admitted to herself that her hair looked much better after Kerry redid it for her, putting more edge on her shaggy blonde hair. She missed her pink color, but this wasn't the right time to lament the loss of cool factor in her life. "Thanks," she finally grinned before putting her dress back on. "You're heaven sent."

Kerry laughed and waved the compliment off. "Nah. I'm just a sucker for romance. Go get your girl."

Her interaction with Kerry made her briefly forget the oddity of her situation. But once again, she was reminded of what she needed to go through. She slightly grimaced then thanked the young escort once more before rushing towards Puck's office.

Rachel was patiently waiting, reading a book and deliberately refusing to acknowledge Quinn. The artist clenched her jaws and shook her head, suddenly filled with desire to call the whole thing off.

After a few exchanges and apologies about the time, Puck got into business; he took out a piece of paper and started reading to her what she can and can't do with the brunette.

Quinn felt dizzy and overwhelmed. She zoned out and absently nodded at every point.

"…and the moment she feels uneasy about anything you do or say, she has the right to end the night. No refund. Got that, Miss Fabray?"

The artist blinked then glanced at Rachel who just looked away. "I—yeah, got it," Quinn mumbled without taking her eyes away from the brunette. "Uhm, Rach? Ready?"

"Camila."

"I'm…sorry?"

"Rachel…" Puck sighed.

Rachel finally acknowledged Quinn's presence. She stood up and smoothed down her dress. "Camila Santiago."

Puck cleared his throat and shot Quinn an apologetic look. "That's…that's her name. Clients know her as that. So, uh, yeah. You'd have to call her that."

"I don't—"

"No one knows my real name, Quinn," Rachel huffed impatiently. "You rented me for the night? That means you rented Camila Santiago. Got it?"

"O-okay, got it."

For a brief moment, Rachel wanted to stop the act and embrace Quinn. There was a strong tug in her heart when Quinn stuttered slightly in response while wringing her hands together. The younger girl was lost and it showed.

It didn't help that Rachel kept biting her head off while on the way to the restaurant. Any question or comment relating to their relationship, Rachel immediately shot them down by reminding Quinn they're supposed to have just met.

And with every cutting remark, Quinn became more and more silent until it was the only thing that enveloped the air.

To make matters worse, while the rain has stopped, the rest of humanity seemed to have converged towards the strip. The brunette had no idea what time their reservation was, but a quick glimpse at the dashboard clock showed they have been stuck in traffic for almost thirty minutes.

And Quinn was still silent and simply stared at the windshield and occasionally looked to her side.

"What time's our reservation?"

"Eight," Quinn mumbled and continued to stare at a billboard.

"It's…past eight."

"Yeah."

"What restaurant? Maybe I can get Puck to call. We have maintained contacts—"

"It's fine. I know the manager. He knows I'm stuck in traffic."

"Okay. Where are we going?"

"Mizumi."

"That's…expensive."

"Don't worry about it."

Rachel scrutinized Quinn's face. Both the artist's words and expression had no bite. It would have been easier for the brunette if the girl beside her was being her usual petulant or angry self.

But this.

This was very different.

And Rachel didn't know what it meant.

After fifteen minutes, they finally arrived at their destination. Rachel was hungry and she silently thanked Quinn for having the wisdom to pre-order. The Japanese restaurant was one of Rachel's favorite restaurants since they started operations in Las Vegas—a few things she considered as benefits of her job. She wouldn't spend a lot on fancy dining, and so having men cater to her wants was certainly not a reason for her to complain about her life.

Her appetite was however curbed by Quinn's sustained somber mood. On a more positive note, it gave the brunette the opportunity to observe the younger girl. This was the first time they have ever been in a very expensive joint together and the escort soon realized she still had much to learn about the artist. By careful inspection, she noticed that Quinn would use her chopsticks to poke the sashimi slice several times before dipping them in her one-fourth soy sauce, three-fourths wasabi sauce.

Yes. Rachel almost giggled in amusement when Quinn carefully measured the two ingredients and stirred them to a smooth consistency.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Why…do you poke the sashimi before dipping it?"

"Uhm," the blonde girl looked down at the assaulted squid. "I wanna make sure they're really dead before eating it."

"You—you think there's a possibility it's still alive."

"Yeah, it's ridiculous. I know."

"No—that's not, I didn't mean—"

"Want more sake, Ra—I mean, yeah, do you want more sake?"

Rachel sighed. "I'm fine. I don't drink a lot during work."

"I'm not gonna take advantage of you," Quinn chuckled sadly while shaking her head.

"Quinn, that's not what I meant."

"Is this your first time here?"

"No…"

"I see…I should have asked, huh?"

"I don't mind. I like it here."

"That's—that's good to know."

"Why were you late, by the way? Trish came in and said you had some trouble that needed fixing," Rachel said quickly in an effort to continue the conversation.

"I…slipped while rushing to your office…got soaked in the rain. Needed to borrow someone else's blower."

"And who was kind enough to lend you?"

"Some girl named Kerry. Said you're like a big sister to her or something."

"Ah," Rachel smiled and nodded. "She is."

"Yeah. So, that's pretty much the story."

"Well…you don't look like you got into an accident," the brunette smirked. "You look really nice."

"She fixed me up."

"I like your hairstyle."

"Cecile hates it."

"Who?"

"Cecile. My schoolmate. She hangs out a lot with me."

_That_ Cecile.

"Well…_she_'s blind. It really suits you."

"I used to have unruly pink hair."

It must be the wasabi, Rachel thought.

"And I dressed up differently."

It was too strong that her eyes started to water.

"I'm an artist, by the way."

Rachel didn't realize, until it was too late, that Quinn had started playing the game.

"Abstract."

Rachel but her lower lip and took a shot of warm sake.

That hurt. But that pain was better than their current situation.

"So…you're an abstract painter. You must be good," the brunette said through clenched jaws.

"I guess."

"So…you're graduating this year, right?"

"Yeah."

"Excited?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It's just another day. The following morning, I'll just be the same."

"But…I'm sure you have plans for the future? College maybe?"

"I don't."

Oh, if only ceramic chopsticks were easy to break.

"What do you mean? I'm sure there are good art schools out there. I heard San Francisco—"

"Funny," Quinn stared at her and smiled softly. "I briefly did consider San Francisco. But I forgot to send in my application."

"You what?" The brunette exclaimed. "Quinn." Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Rachel successfully recovered from her outburst. She leaned closer and spoke through gritted teeth. "Your future isn't a joke. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Clearly, I wasn't thinking at all."

"Quinn."

"Camila."

Rachel's eyes widened as the name flowed easily on Quinn's lips.

God, she was a fast learner.

They were finally down to business.

And the dinner went on the way it normally would for Rachel. Quinn spoke about her life while Rachel smiled, nodded and interjected comments at the right moments.

It was so typical for the brunette that her heart ached with every subject matter the artist dealt with.

And with every minute that passed by, Rachel began to see Quinn clearly. It wasn't the just the hair color, but everything was changed. She started to wonder if this was Quinn before she turned punk. The girl in front of her was unsure of herself, spoke in an almost whisper and almost always avoided eye contact.

Maybe this was her before they met.

Or maybe, Rachel finally admitted as the young girl parked the car in front of the escort's office, this was all because of her.

She felt so sick remembering how she treated Quinn earlier.

Santana was wrong. She's not like Quinn's family or friends.

She was worse.

"So…I…had a good time," Quinn mumbled while fiddling with her seatbelt.

Seriously?

"I—I have something for you."

Rachel closed her eyes and clenched her legs as the artist leaned over and rummaged through her glove compartment. The mixed scent of Quinn's shampoo and perfume gave her a familiar jolt in her body that intensified as it traveled to and settled at her core.

Had Quinn decided to lean over and kiss her, she wouldn't have been able to resist.

But the girl made no attempt to even touch her even in the most unsuspecting way throughout the night.

And that was obvious to Rachel.

Painfully so.

Quinn settled back to her seat and bashfully handed over a lean rectangular box. "Here…I've been told you have a fascination for watches."

Rachel gasped softly as she ran a finger over the container. "You didn't have to."

"I want to."

"Quinn…you spent a fortune for tonight. The restaurant…the flowers, this," she said while shaking her hand and grasping the gift. "Not to mention what you paid for…for—"

"Do I…hand you the tip? Or…I don't know how to do this."

Rachel looked away as she fought fresh tears from falling. "There's no need for a tip."

"But I want to."

Rachel felt the young girl place something gently at the palm of her hand.

For all of Quinn's callousness, she had to choose this moment to show subtlety and sensitivity. The money was neatly placed inside a small pink envelope.

The shade of her hair.

Or what used to be.

The corner of Quinn's lips quirked upward briefly. "Thank you."

The brunette could only nod. She hastily got out of the vehicle and ran towards the office.

But in a moment of insanity, she sprinted back to Quinn before the girl had driven away.

"Miss Fabray," she panted. Rachel didn't care that tears were freely flowing now and that Quinn could see them clearly.

"Y-yeah?"

"Thank you for choosing our services. I hope to see you again."

**A/N: You are all beyond kind, taking your time to read, review, choose to be alerted and making this a favorite story of yours. **

**A/N 2: Kill me if you want. I will accept my fate wholeheartedly. I know this isn't the best chapter. But obviously, this won't be the last of their encounters. So I hope I can make it up soon. **


	12. Chapter 12

Quinn woke up to in an unusual way—her mother picking up the young girl's dirty clothes off the floor.

Rubbing her eyes violently as if trying to make sure it wasn't a dream, the artist mumbled softly, "Mom?"

The svelte older blonde stopped from her tracks, looked at Quinn and smiled. "Good morning, sweetie. Slept well?"

The artist blinked several times, still unsure if she's in the middle of sleep. But when she felt her bed dip after her mom sat down and kissed her forehead, the younger blonde found herself fully awaken and conscious. "Not really. What are you doing here?"

"Last time I checked, this is still my home. Unless, you kicked me out without notice," Judy joked. Her laughter, however, died down when she noticed the miserable state of her daughter. "Quinnie, you've been crying. What's wrong?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Question is, is there anything right about me?"

"Don't sass me. I asked a question."

"Don't pretend you actually care."

The older woman sighed heavily. "Why are you _so_ hostile to me? You're not like this to your father."

"Really, mom? We're having this conversation now?"

"No. We'll have it downstairs as soon as you get up. I made breakfast."

"Not hungry."

"Lucy Quinn."

"Ugh. Fine. I'm up."

"Good. Come down, tell me what's going on in your life," Judy said in an insistent manner then pointed to Quinn before leaving the room. "You can start with your hair."

The young artist groaned loudly. The last time she had the much dreaded Fabray women food bonding session was after she came out as a lesbian. Well, more like Judy caught her making out with a girl in the living room.

Quinn still has a vivid memory of how her mother reacted. Actually, it was the older blonde's non-reaction that made the whole scenario unforgettable.

Her mother politely asked the girl to leave, and then told Quinn to fix the table for dinner.

Mother's intuition, Judy reasoned out. She always knew, she said. Frannie spent all her time playing coy with boys who kept chasing her. Quinn followed her Latina friend around like a German shepherd. It wasn't, therefore, hard for a mother to figure things out.

What was left unspoken was a mother's fear of losing her only daughter left.

She fought with her husband every single time Quinn's sexuality was brought up. It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back of an already crumbling marriage. What's worse is that she could never seem to have Quinn's sympathy or affection even as a child.

She couldn't blame her daughter, either.

Judy was brought up in a heavily regimented WASP family from Ohio. Her father was a government employee and her mother was the typical homemaker. While they didn't have to make ends meet, they also didn't have the luxury of what Quinn enjoyed. And with five siblings to live with, discipline was everything. That is, if they didn't want to be reacquainted with their father's belt.

So, she brought up two girls not with the way her father did, but , however, was also incapable of bringing warmth into the family.

She simply didn't know how to.

Thus, Judy constantly blamed herself for Frannie's suicide. And she also constantly blamed herself for Quinn's dour attitude.

And that sneer on her daughter's lovely face despite her favorite breakfast being served.

"Quinn, honey," the older blonde whined. "Talk to me."

"Good cooking, mom."

Judy rolled her eyes before taking a sip of coffee. "You know that's not—"

"What do you want me to say? Rachel and I broke up. I'm miserable. I'm depressed. I'm heartbroken. I feel like I'm being torn into a million pieces and that the wind had blown all of me in several locations."

"Rachel, that gorgeous girl next door?" The older woman inquired, deliberately ignoring her daughter's hyperbolic description of her emotions.

"Yes," Quinn sighed in exasperation. "You met her once."

"I did. Lovely girl. I'm actually surprised she agreed to date you."

Quinn stabbed her pancake with a fork while glaring at her mother. "I always knew you had so much faith in me."

"_I_ wouldn't have dated someone like you, Quinn. You're my daughter and I accept all of you. But let's face it, you're not Miss Personality of the Year."

"I have my moments," the younger girl mumbled in defeat.

"Well, those moments seem to have failed you. Why did she break up with you?"

"Why would you assume _I_ didn't do the breaking?"

"Because you wouldn't feel like being 'torn into a million pieces' if that was the case. Is that why you've returned to your natural hair color?"

"It's a long story."

"I have all day."

"That's a first."

"Won't be the last."

Quinn's ears perked up. "Are you sick?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you're being weird."

"I just…" Judy tapped her fingers over the table top, figuring out how to approach the subject matter. "When you packed up Fran's things. It…it got me into thinking. Really hard. Almost felt like being doused with ice cold water."

"Finally accepted she's gone?"

"More like…I finally realized I haven't been a mother at all. Especially to you. It took time, but I'm getting there. I've been seeing a therapist."

"I don't see—"

"Quinn, you've never liked me. Why is that?"

"I—that's not true," Quinn looked down and nervously played with her food.

"I think you and I both know that's really not the case."

"Mom, really, can we not talk—"

"Frannie and I never talked. We never will."

"I'm _not_ like her," Quinn hissed. Her anger was completely halted from building up by a sudden awareness of what her mother was saying in between the lines. "You—you blame yourself for Fran's suicide? Mom, you know that's not the case."

"Is it?" Judy cleared her throat as her voice began to break.

Quinn shook her head slowly. "She was sick."

"I should've been there for her."

"I don't think you could've done anything, mom. No one could have. I'm not—I'm not blaming you at all. And I don't dislike you because of that."

"Oh, I know that much. You've never liked me even when you were a lot younger."

"That's because I…I always felt I could never be better than you," Quinn whispered.

Judy leaned closer, unsure of what she had heard. "You…you were insecure? Quinn, I'm your mother. I'm not your competition."

"You're _perfect_, mom," the artist stated with much derision. "You do everything perfectly. I grew up hearing all sorts of great things about you, from our church to your friends, officemates, everyone. You—you're this…wonder woman who graduated from an Ivy League under full academic scholarship, runs a very successful business, gorgeous, affable, can freaking run a household, a great cook, and has won every figurative Miss Personality of the Year."

"Quinn—"

"I'm not done. And besides physical appearance? We have _nothing_ in common, mom. I'm just—I'm everything you're not. And in this stupid, desolate world we live in, that means I suck. I _tried_ to be like you, but I ended up being the cheerleader that got kicked out for being a lesbian. You never once said I'm pretty or that I'm alright as a person. You never assured me it was okay to _not_ be like you." Quinn looked away and began controlling her breathing. "And that's why I don't like you," she finally ended.

It was cathartic. To finally be able to say it out loud. The only thing left was for her mother to read her the riot act.

Or not.

What Judy did next positively surprised Quinn. Tentatively, the older blonde reached out and held the artist's hand. Squeezing it tightly, the repentant mother breathed deeply and muttered an apology.

"I'm so sorry."

A very short statement in contrast to a long-winded rant borne out of years of failed parenting.

The young girl's face slowly lit up. That's the first time she had ever heard her mother apologize to her. "It's okay."

"Tell me what I can do to make amends."

Quinn chewed her lower lip and thought about her answer hard. "Can you stop with the wife-swapping? It really bothers me and makes me sick."

Judy's eyes widened in shock. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Wife-swa—"

"I _know_ what that is. I am shocked that you're accusing me of….of participating in—in _that_ sort of…activity."

The younger blonde frowned deeply. "But dad said—"

"Well, your father is lying!" Judy clutched her chest and pulled a face in disgust.

"Where were you on my birthday?"

"I left a note, honey. I told you there was a charity event I had to go to. And I even left a ticket for you to follow in case you wanted to go."

"You and your stupid notes! You know I don't read them!"

"And yet, you believe your father just like that?"

"I—well, he—"

"Never mind," Judy sighed. "I'm not going to turn you against Russell."

The artist continued to glower in confusion. "Why would dad say something like that?"

"Quinn, I won't be answering for your father. You go ask him that question."

"So you never—"

"I've had my affairs. I won't deny that. I have no one to blame but myself. But I have stopped seeing anyone since Fran's death."

"So…so…all those times you travelled alone…"

"I was really alone."

Quinn's face twisted in guilt. "I'm sor—"

"You have _nothing_ to apologize for, honey," Judy smiled. "It's me that needs to get my act together. Am I…too late?"

"No…" Quinn smiled back, mirroring her mother's facial features. "Good timing, actually."

"So…how should we go about this? Would you like some mother-daughter activities? Or—"

"Mom…mom," Quinn raised her hand to stop Judy. "We're _not_ that kind of people. Let's not force it."

Judy laughed the kind of hearty laugh Quinn had never heard from her mother. "Okay, fine. What's your idea?"

"This. Right here," the artist shrugged. "We talk when we want to. When we have the time. You don't need to rearrange your life for me. I don't think I'll be able to stand you doting on me all the time. And frankly, I think you will spontaneously combust attempting to do so. I like—I like the fact that I'm talking to you right now."

"Keep lines of communications always open," Judy nodded. "Got it."

"And you do the same?"

"You're willing to sit down and listen to _my_ problems?"

Quinn shrugged then grinned. "I look forward to knowing you're not so damn perfect after all."

Judy reached out and mussed Quinn's already messy hair which brought them both back to the starting point of their conversation. "What happened, honey?"

It took fifteen minutes for Quinn to explain, and thirty for Judy to get over the fact that her daughter dated an escort.

It took another hour of argument with Quinn winning the battle.

In monetary terms?

She won a few thousand dollars from her mother's account to get another date rolling.

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Quinn. I could talk to her for you," Judy reasoned out as a last resort.

"No, I'm gonna win her back on my own. She—she needs to see I'm willing to do everything for her."

"With my money."

"I'll pay you back with lots of grandchildren in the future…with Rachel."

"A word of advice? I mean, I do know a thing or two about falling in love."

Quinn shot her mother a knowing look.

"I can _still_ recall when your father had a romantic streak in him," Judy said defensively.

"Alright, fine. What is it?"

"I don't know Rachel's motivation for her behavior. But sweetheart, you're not a dirty old…woman. You'll never be. Taking her to fancy restaurants won't impress her. That's not really who you are."

"But—"

"But, when was Rachel happiest with you?"

"Wholesome happy?"

Judy grimaced. "Quinn, I'm trying to be very open-minded with your choice of…she's an escort for god's sake. Let's not push it."

Quinn chuckled. "Just testing you. And she's a high-class escort. There's a huge difference between—"

"Baby, don't lecture your older and world-weary mother."

"Right. Uhm…When, I took her to, uh, the neon bone yard."

"Well, that certainly should tell you where your next date ought to be." Judy stood up then patted Quinn's shoulder. "Since you're back to being Barbie, any chance you'll run for Prom Queen?"

Not a chance in hell.

But if Rachel requested for it, Quinn would not only run but launch an all-out campaign—even go head to head with Santana.

But first, she needed to follow her mother's advice.

"I didn't know we're branching out into a match-making service," Rachel huffed after smacking the back of Puck's head lightly.

"What? No we're—ohhh," Puck grinned widely in realization and sniggered.

"Don't," Rachel lifted a finger and pointed at her friend, "Mess with my personal life, _Noah._"

Puck scoffed, smugly took his coffee cup and sipped. "Oh, please. I'm hardly doing anything. I just accepted the flowers and that box on your behalf." He moved his head to the direction of the package on his desk and grinned widely again. "Open it. I wanna know what's inside."

"Puck," the brunette sighed. "Stop encouraging her."

"It was _Quinn_ who barged in here and pleaded with her life for me to help her out. She's _desperate_ to have you back, Rachel. What should I have done? Kick her out? I have a heart, you know." He tried to snatch the box away from Rachel which earned him a much stronger hit at the back of his head. Rubbing the sore part, he sat down with a pout.

"I hate you," the brunette scowled. She then carefully eyed the box wrapped in manila paper with doodles all over it. On closer inspection, the drawings were representations of her and Quinn in several scenarios. The escort tightly pursed her lips together to fight a silly grin that she knew was about to make an appearance.

There was chibi Quinn, down on her knees and asking for forgiveness for how she reacted. Another side of the carton showed the two of them on their way to Hawaii with the teenager carrying and pulling all their bags. And after seeing the third panel of them puckered up, inside what looked like a chapel, Rachel finally surrendered to that warm fuzzy feeling that had been bubbling from her stomach that skyrocketed all the way to her chest.

She giggled.

And Rachel Berry hardly giggled.

It's the kind of behavior she only reserved for Quinn in their most intimate moments.

Yet, there she was, acting like a school girl in front of her business partner all because of a dorky packaging.

"I'm glad you find this amusing while I'm about to pee in anticipation. I wanna see what's inside that box."

Rachel was taken away from her reverie with that comment. She glared intensely at the man-boy beside her. "Why are _you_ so curious?"

"Because I want to know what expensive stuff she got you this time. That watch you're wearing certainly can't compete with the more expensive brands you have, but really, an eighteen year old buying you _that_. I can't wait for more," he laughed in amusement.

"You shouldn't have told her that," the escort sighed. "She needs to get a hold on how she's spending her money. She has a future to worry about. She didn't apply to that art school, Puck. I can't believe it. She threw away an opportunity to—"

"She just wants to be with you. Why can't you see that?"

"Why are you so involved in this?"

"Why are _you_ so stubborn about this?"

"For someone who's supposed to feel…some form of attraction for me—"

"I love you, Rachel. L-O-V-E. Which means, genius. I _do_ care about your happiness. I've already told you that."

"Still. You aren't trying to—"

"Convince you that you'll be happier with me?" Puck shook his head and smirked. "Thing is, if you were remotely attracted to me, we could've been a long time ago. I'm not blind or stupid. I'm also not paralyzed by pain and my heart's not on the verge of breakdown. Get over yourself," the man chuckled. "Now, open the damn box."

"Fine, I'm opening it. Everyone's just so demanding these days." She slowly peeled off the wrapper, careful not to ruin Quinn's silly art work while ignoring an exasperated groan from Puck.

It was nothing she expected.

Much to Puck's disappointment, there was nothing expensive inside.

But it was something that had immediate value for Rachel.

The package was an oversized lucky troll doll with pink hair that Quinn obviously customized. Its clothes were dyed in black ink and it held a cardboard sign that had, "This Troll needs a home. Adopt her, please?" written on it. Rachel absently combed the doll's hair with her fingers.

"Again, you're stubborn about this because?"

"Because I won't do her any good in the long run," Rachel murmured while holding the doll close to her chest.

"You know—"

"I _really_ don't want to talk about this anymore, Puck."

"Yeah," the man sighed. "And besides, you owe _her_ an explanation, not me."

She owed Quinn more than an explanation.

And the more infuriating part is Quinn wasn't asking for one.

The artist just wanted her back.

That's how uncompromised Quinn's love for her is.

"And you can start doing that because…" Puck scrolled down his excel file and checked Rachel's schedule. "You have a date with her this Saturday…afternoon."

The brunette groaned and hugged the troll tighter. "I don't want to!"

"And I'm your boss. You do what I tell you. You're lucky, three dates so far. And that she hasn't given you a negative feedback. I would have lowered down your rate," he chuckled mischievously.

"No, Puck—"

"Rachel, who are you kidding? Hawaii is waiting for you. A few weeks ago, you were _just_ fixing things for me in the office and had a one-way ticket to Hawaii. What happened to that?"

"I—refunded."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want Quinn to do anything stupid!"

"Sure. If that's what you really wanna believe in. Don't start whining about the fact that she scheduled another date, then."

"Afternoon?" Rachel sighed.

"Late, around five. And…she made a specific request for you to wear casual clothes and comfortable shoes. Weird, huh?"

"Knowing Quinn?" Rachel asked with a small smile. "Not really."

A county fair.

Truth be told, Rachel has never been to one, and Quinn unwittingly gave her a childhood dream.

The young blonde was determined to win every single game to impress her date. Much to Rachel's amusement, and for all of the artist's amazing dexterity with her work and in bed, Quinn's aim turned out to be lousier than a drunken archer.

"These games are rigged," the younger girl protested with a scowl.

"I don't think—here, let me take the last ring," Rachel offered. She flicked her wrist and the ring miraculously fell right into its intended target.

"Oh my god! Quinn!" Rachel jumped and clapped her hands.

The artist groaned in humiliation. "Beginner's luck," she mumbled grumpily.

"Aw, come on. I got you a cute dolphin," the brunette laughed while pushing the plush toy against the younger girl's cheek.

"Uh, no. You keep it."

"But I won this for you."

"With my money. So technically, that's my game you played. So, yeah, you get to keep it."

"Quinn…"

"Camila."

Of course. Trust Quinn to, pointblank, bring her back to reality.

"Right, okay. I'll keep this. Thank you. Uhm…want to ride the Big Wheel?"

Quinn looked up and stared at the Ferris wheel slowly rotating. "Uhm, maybe not."

"Why not? Are you afraid of heights?"

"No, not really."

"Then…"

"I got my first kiss right there."

"Oh."

"So cliché, right?" Quinn chuckled dryly as she led them to the flea market.

"No…no, I think it's very sweet."

"I guess it is." The artist busied herself with scrutinizing coke memorabilia, while Rachel struggled to find safe conversation topics.

The artist eventually moved on to another stall and seemed to have found one that interested her. "How much for this lunchbox?"

"Oh, that's a rare one," the man behind the kiosk said. "That's a bento box from Japan right out of the Mecha anime movement in the 70's. Valued at 150 bucks."

"150? Geez, that's steep."

"Well, I'll tell you why. Take a look at the inside, the thermos is in almost mint condition, and the containers hardly have any scratches. You won't find anything better than that."

"Yeah…I mean, it _is _ Mazinger Z," Quinn said in awe while examining the contents. "How about 80?"

"Oh, hey, you obviously love it and know your robots. So I really would love for you to have that," the man chuckled. "But I really can't go that way. I got that for a 100 and I won't go lower than that."

Rachel stepped closer and took the box as the younger girl continued to haggle. "120 and that's all I have left," Quinn sighed.

"125."

"We'll take it," Rachel chimed in and squeezed the younger girl's arm before taking out her wallet.

Quinn stood still, confused and surprised at the escort's break from character for the second time that night. "It's not unusual for us to give our clients some form of token," Rachel whispered, knowing very much what was going through the artist's mind.

Quinn nodded and started to walk away slowly. "Quinn?" Rachel frowned as she hurried up the transaction.

"Looks like your girlfriend's not too happy with you spending for her," the man winked then turned his attention to another customer.

"Quinn!" Rachel ran with the lunchbox in her hand. "Quinn!"

The artist stopped walking and sighed heavily. "I didn't ask for you to do that."

"I thought…" the escort held the lunchbox up and offered it to Quinn. "You seemed to have liked it so much."

"You're so good at this. Making up your own rules when it's convenient for you."

"I—no, I—"

"I don't want that."

"Quinn, I bought this for _you_."

"I appreciate the gesture. But I really don't want to accept anything from you, Camila."

"Quinn—"

"No, okay? You don't make me remember how you used to give me little things because I liked them. You don't make me remember how childish you can be at things that amuse you. And _then_, make me remember that all of this now is just an act for you. So, you can keep your fucking token because I don't want to remember _why_ I have that."

"I…Quinn, I'm so—"

"Save it. Let's go back to your office."

"W-what? But you paid for…" Rachel sighed deeply. "We're supposed to be out for three hours."

"Bonus for you, then." Quinn walked ahead and parted the crowd by her don't-mess-with-me stance, leaving Rachel alone to mull over the implications of Quinn's outburst. She ran after Quinn and caught up with the younger girl a few meters away from the parking lot. Grabbing her wrist, Rachel pulled Quinn closer and kissed the young artist deeply.

"Come on," Rachel mumbled against Quinn's lips. "We can book a room."

"But—"

"I'm breaking my ultimate rule, Quinn."

The artist pursed her lips tightly and shook her head. "I think…we should have coffee, instead."

A/N: Writer's block and I know it showed. I really apologize. I did not update for the sake of updating, though (if that's any consolation). I never forgot Judy :)


	13. Chapter 13

Quinn drove quietly.

Eerily so.

The silence allowed Rachel to recall her seemingly most embarrassing moment a few minutes ago. She wanted to outwardly cringe. The thought of propositioning sex and consequently being turned down by the younger girl _and_ to be told they ought to have coffee made her pray for earth to open up and swallow her completely.

She felt like a child. Fidgeting and nervously playing with the hem of her blouse, Rachel kept stealing glances at Quinn, whose stoic expression reminded the brunette of her late mother when she rebuked the younger prostitutes.

Rachel grimaced after realizing she just compared the young artist to her late mother.

Good strategy to really lose all desire to seduce the young artist, though. Setting aside all other thoughts, Rachel decided to break the ice. "Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are we going?"

"This…this coffee shop. It's my favorite."

The drove further away from the Strip and passed through UNLV—a place Quinn briefly mentioned she frequented when she was a lot younger because her sister used to drag her everywhere. They stopped at a local coffee establishment—Sunrise Café. The area was simply new to Rachel because this obviously wasn't her clientele's destination. She suddenly realized how detached she was to a county she had called home over the last three years.

The first thing she noticed inside the café housed framed artworks found all over the establishment's wall. Quinn took her hand and let them to a nook near a huge book cabinet. The brunette couldn't help but smile. If Quinn was a coffee shop, this place would exactly be her.

"So, where's yours?" Rachel asked softly as soon as Quinn returned with two Nutella Frappucinos.

The blonde girl raised an eyebrow. "How did you—"

"I just know," Rachel shrugged timidly.

Quinn pointed to an abstract painting that acted as a centerpiece to several other similar-themed works. "I was eleven. Frannie loved this place," she smiled with a tinge of sadness in her voice. "She knew everyone. The owner in particular was very kind to her. She would bring me here and she'd study for her classes, while I just…yeah, that's the result," the artist said with a nod towards the wall's direction. "She was never the party girl. Give her a good cup of coffee and a book, and she was lost in her world right away."

"Kind of like you with a canvass and paint."

"In a way. But I was a lot more open than her—I know that's a little hard to believe, but yeah. She always…wore a mask. Showed everyone she was happy. She was genuinely nice to people, but even when I was a kid, I knew she was always sad. I saw it when everyone else failed to."

"Did…did something happen before?"

"I don't—I don't remember anything," Quinn said while shaking her head several times. "I always claimed that it was just my mom who couldn't let go. But I spent years, looking at her stuff inside her room…everything, just to look for a clue why she decided to kill herself. I found nothing." Quinn took a sip, pursed her lips quirked her eyebrows upwards. "She didn't keep a diary. At least I didn't find one. Who does that? Everyone should leave a mark in this world, you know?"

Rachel tilted her head and gave Quinn a guilty smile.

"Why would you want that?"

"I don't…I don't think anything about me is remarkable and worth knowing or remembering."

"Everything about you is worth all that," Quinn said in a hushed and heartbreaking tone. "Same with Frannie."

Rachel was lost for words. All of her crabbiness caused by Quinn's rejection was immediately pushed back and her desire to comfort the young artist came out. She reached out for younger girl's hand and held it tightly.

"I should have said something," the artist sighed.

"You're…blaming yourself?"

"No…no, I'm not. I don't think I was the one who drove her to do it, you know? But…I was the one with her. I lived with her. Mom and Dad…they wouldn't have known. There was no way. But me…I knew. I slowly watched her withdraw from life. In a way, I slowly watched her die. And I didn't do anything."

"Quinn, you were _so_ young. You're thinking about this in retrospect. But the child version of you wouldn't have known."

The artist gazed into Rachel's eyes and nodded. "Do you really believe that?"

"I do. I don't think our younger selves would have been able to process and verbalize what we innately felt as something wrong. I knew…when I think about it these days, I knew the real," Rachel cautiously glanced at Quinn, "the real Camila Santiago was going to hurt herself. I keep thinking—and it still haunts me to this day—that if I had just said something, or stayed with her…kept her company all night…maybe she wouldn't have killed herself."

"She—she also…"

The escort caught her lower lip between her teeth. "She was in my mother's brothel. She was…about your age now. Someone hurt her really bad and I took some food to her. I guess she reached her tipping point."

"Why take her name?"

"Because…" Rachel smiled wistfully, "because I promised her I would get out of that place and make something for myself. I wanted her to be part of it." Shrugging her shoulders, she chuckled dryly, "I'm not exactly a vast improvement of what she was, but it _is_ better."

Quinn looked away and twisted her lips in disdain. "I'm so sorry for—for saying all those horrible things. I—"

"Quinn, it's not you—"

"No, please," the artist shifted in her seat and faced Rachel fully. "Just…let me say this."

The escort let out a shaky breath and gripped Quinn's hand tighter. "Okay."

"I know I made you feel so small. I'm really, really sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I have no excuse. I never wanted you to feel—I guess what I just really want to say is, I respect you, Rachel."

The brunette looked down and quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. "You know…that's the first time someone has ever uttered that word in relation to me."

"Small?"

Rachel guffawed despite her emotional state. "I think that's one word that's _always_ associated with me."

"I know," Quinn smiled. "That's why I wondered."

"I meant respect," the older woman stated. "Respect," she repeated. "No one's ever said they respect me."

"I just did."

"I know," Rachel looked up and smiled. "Thank you."

"I really mean it."

"I don't question your integrity, Quinn. I never did."

"Rachel," the artist breathed out. "I can't do this anymore."

The brunette instantly felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "What—what do you mean?"

"This. I can't keep paying to be with an escort. I don't want her. I never did. I want _you_."

"I offered for us to—"

"I don't want _that_. I don't want to have sex with Camila. If you were just _you_, you wouldn't take me to a hotel, Rachel. You'd take me _home_. Like how it used to be. You wouldn't be talking about breaking a rule that only existed for your clients. I'm _Quinn_. _Your _Quinn. Just yours. I don't want to be like them. I don't want to be any of them."

Rachel looked down once more and blinked several times. "Quinn…I don't think you fully understand what you're wishing for."

"Then help _me_ understand, Rachel."

"Have you ever imagined, like really imagine how our life would be together?"

"Yeah," Quinn frowned, "All the time. We'd be in San Francisco, and I'll enroll at—"

"No…that's…that's a very picturesque thing you're going to tell me. I meant…marriage, family."

The artist straightened up her posture and thought about it for a moment. "I—no, I mean. I can see us getting married, and—and yeah, kids, I definitely want kids with you."

"Okay…so, what if our daughter or son starts asking what I used to do, what will you tell them? How will you approach the subject?"

"I…well, I'm gonna—I know it won't be easy, but—uhm," the artist deflated. "I don't know…"

"And Quinn, our last couple of dates…you took me to a Vegas show, and an art exhibit. How many times did you stop and think if I had a client in the room? You introduced me to some of your patrons. Did you wonder if any of them hired my services?"

Quinn leant back and looked away in defeat. "All the time," she mumbled. "I thought about it all the time. Whenever a man looks your way, I—I tried not to think about it."

"But you couldn't help it…"

The artist closed her eyes and massaged her temples before nodding.

"I've lost count, Quinn. I don't remember all of them anymore."

"But, it's…it's not that bad, right? You never had sex with any of them."

"What if I did?"

The artist's face turned pale. She swallowed roughly before taking a deep breath. "I—I thought you said—"

"What if I did?" Rachel repeated.

"I don't—I still love you, Rachel."

"I know that," the escort sighed softly. "It's just…I noticed you keep trying to confirm whether I have actually performed a sexual favor to any of my clients. I already told you I never did. Yet, you still keep bringing it up. I know the fact that I never crossed the line makes things easier for you to accept, but please stop denying to yourself that you absolutely believe me. You have your doubts, and you may never get over them."

Quinn's gaze shifted all over the place in order to avoid eye contact with the brunette. "I'm trying, Rachel," she pleaded. "Please, just give me a chance."

"I don't want to give you that chance, Quinn. I want you to take a chance somewhere else. I'm not worth it."

"That's—you're lying. I know you are," Quinn muttered softly. "Why make plans with me? Why tell me I'm everything you dreamt of? If you didn't believe that you're worth it?"

Rachel scooted closer and started rubbing the top of Quinn's hand with her thumb in a soothing manner. "When I'm with you, Quinn. I just…I get sucked into this—this world that's devoid of reality. I'm _so_ in love with you that I deluded myself into believing we'll just ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. I've always been pragmatic, a realist. When I met you…I was just drawn into you without me even realizing it. When you touch me…or even just when I hear your voice…I forget. I forget what I do, or who I am. And all I feel is happiness. I've _never_ felt happy, Quinn. I never knew what it meant. I became so selfish because you make me feel so damn good. But, I can't be selfish anymore…I'm not going to let you keep getting hurt by being with me and having to deal with all these doubts and shame."

"Rachel—"

"Quinn, I'm _one_ step higher than your average _whore_. That's _me._ No amount of sugar-coating will change the fact that what I do isn't acceptable _anywhere_. You deserve someone who's not going to bring you down."

"You brought out the best in me."

"Can you imagine yourself having to keep qualifying that while I'm an escort, I've never done anything besides literally escorting someone? Would you be able to accept that people will not believe you? Will you be able to stand being with a group of individuals who will smile at you, but laugh behind your back because your girlfriend or wife was a hooker?"

The artist chewed her lower lip nervously. Her brows were deeply furrowed while she mulled over Rachel's questions. "But you're not—"

"Quinn, you're not getting it. People will _not_ care about the difference," Rachel huffed in exasperation. "That's the reality you will face with me. Right now, you have tunnel vision. And trust me; I'm so tempted to just believe in your version of our future."

"If I have to endure all those things, I will," the artist said with conviction.

"Will you be able to handle losing your parents?"

"My mom's okay with it," Quinn interjected with a small smile. "I mean…not _really_ okay with it, but she's trying to accept. If that's a huge worry—"

"And your dad?"

"I've…not spoken to him yet. But, Rach, I'm sure dad's gonna be just like mom. I know him. I know him more than mom. He's always been nicer to me, you know? He'll definitely be more accepting."

Rachel steeled herself to remain unreadable. "Quinn…"

"I promise, Rach," the blonde girl nodded with conviction. "Dad won't be a problem."

"You haven't answered my question. What if he doesn't? What if he makes you choose?"

"I—well, I don't know, yet. I mean, I don't think he's gonna make me choose. He's not like that."

Rachel smiled sadly and nodded. "I know you love him so much," the escort said before leaning closer and kissing Quinn's forehead.

The artist in return suddenly burrowed her face against the nook of the brunette's neck. With the escort instinctively wrapping her arms around the younger girl, the besotted ex-lovers stayed in this position for a few minutes until Quinn spoke. "Your drink remains untouched."

"So it seems," Rachel agreed with a slight chuckle. She reached out and took the drink. "Your favorite?"

"Yup."

"How do you not get fat? You eat the unhealthiest things."

"Lots of sex. Great form of exercise."

"You really have to remind me that you rejected my indecent proposal, huh?"

"There was nothing indecent about it. Just…awkward."

"If I give you back your money for tonight, would that still be awkward?"

"Why are you tempting me? Is this a test? My EQ is really low, if you haven't noticed yet."

"No…I just really miss you," Rachel bashfully admitted. "I know it won't give clarity to our situation, and I'm just being selfish again."

"Can we stop with this, now? Can we just start dating again?"

"Quinn, I—"

"That's a no?"

"You haven't even considered the things I've told you."

"I will. I just need time."

"Then I'm giving you that time."

"I'll never win against you."

"Nope. Never."

Quinn sighed heavily. "So what…I'll still have to schedule with Puck?"

The brunette nodded solemnly. "But…this will be our last night together, Miss Fabray."

"What?"

"I'm retiring. But there's a new girl coming in to replace me—"

"But—"

The escort quickly placed a finger on Quinn's lips. "I'm personally recommending her to you. Her name's Rachel Berry."

The artist scowl morphed into a tentative smile. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

"And because she's very new to this, her rate will definitely be a lot lower," Rachel continued with a slight smirk.

"There's something you're not telling me again. I can feel it."

"Maybe. But can you still trust me? This is what's best for us right now."

Quinn puffed her cheeks then nodded. "I'll do anything to be near you, I told you that."

"My fulltime stalker."

"Yeah, definitely."

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"My offer still stands."

And Quinn's EQ failed miserably.

Rachel took the lead and took the artist to the Red Rock Casino and Resort. The artist silently observed how the petite brunette breezed through check-in and greeted some of the staff with familiarity. "You've been here before," Quinn stated.

"Yes," Rachel said in response as they walked around the resort. "The five-star alliance is not above doing business with people like us, albeit informally."

"How?"

"Everyone's on the take. Cab drivers, lobby staff, bar tenders. Everyone. A rich man knows how to discreetly ask, and everyone knows how to discreetly point to us. It's different now. We're part of the bigger league. Back in New York…I literally had to stay all night in hotel bars with Puck. Eye contact was the key."

"And you were just my age. That…that didn't scare you?"

"Scared the heck out of me. I don't recall a moment that I felt safe around those men. Even with Puck nearby."

The blonde girl took Rachel's hand and held it tightly, waiting for Rachel to continue. It was a different atmosphere, and both knew it. They could have gone straight to their room; but there they were, strolling around with Rachel slowly opening up about her life.

"No one can really say if a man decides to be an ass and crosses the boundary. I grew up seeing them do that all the time."

"Did anyone ever try to?"

Rachel nodded without looking at Quinn. "Especially back in New York during our first few years. We were small time, and we were working at three-star hotels. I dealt with a lot of shady traveling businessmen. Quinn, you don't need to know the details. Just…rest assured I've been lucky enough to escape situations relatively unscathed. I'm not…as damaged as most girls."

"Your dad…why didn't you ever try to look for him? Did you really not know him at all?"

"I do…at least by name. He…signed my birth certificate and let me use his surname. As if that mattered at all. I never tried looking for him because as far as I'm concerned, if he was spineless enough to abandon my mother during her pregnancy, I don't want to have any business with him."

"Yeah, you're—"

"Camila?"

Quinn frowned while Rachel squeezed her hand after both heard a man call the escort's alias. Rachel was the first to turn around and see the face behind the voice. "Mr. Prescott," Rachel smiled. "It's been a long time."

The tall, lean man in his early forties smiled back and fixed his tie. "Yes, it _has_ been a while. My wife was posted in Europe and so some temporary relocation had to be done for me as well. And please, I've told you a million times to call me Oliver."

Quinn bit her tongue to say something snarky. Instead, she quietly observed the two interact. It was obvious from the initial conversation that this man was a regular. The way he vaguely talked about his wife's situation implied that Rachel knew her job in the first place. The escort tried to make the conversation short by occasionally glancing at the artist, silently communicating with the dapper male that she was currently working.

The successful executive eyed Quinn with curiosity and the young girl couldn't find it in her to be annoyed. It was a rather intriguing situation for someone her age to be paying for an escort. The artist made a mental note to ask Rachel if it was a rarity for lesbians to hire their services. Instead of prolonging the agony, the blonde wrapped her arm around the older woman's waist and stared at the man's eyes intensely.

"I don't believe we have met," Oliver said with a smug smile. "Oliver Prescott. I'm the managing director for SINOPEC."

"Can't say the company rings a bell."

Oliver chuckled. "I…don't expect you to be aware of the company. It's a Chinese petrochemical corporation."

"Oh. So you're one of them."

"One of…what?" Oliver asked in amusement.

"One of those who are selling our country's natural resources to the Chinese."

Rachel's eyes widened in amusement. Quinn has never showed interest in politics, let alone express a particularly strong view towards foreign investments.

Or perhaps, it was only that moment Quinn decided on economic nationalism in reaction to Mr. Prescott's profession and patronizing tone.

The man fixed his tie again. Rachel always found that annoying.

"And what do you do, Miss…" Oliver said in an effort to avoid addressing Quinn's comment.

"Quinn Fabray. Artist. All-American."

"Yes," Rachel nervously chuckled. "And we…have to be on our way. Oliver. Nice seeing you again."

"Ass," Quinn mumbled as she was being dragged away by the brunette.

"Did you really have to be that cutting?" Rachel laughed.

The artist pulled a disgusted face. "Oliver Prescott. I'm the managing director for SINOPEC," Quinn said, imitating the man's voice and stance. "Like that makes him a better man. Please."

"Oh. Wow," Rachel cackled as she pressed the elevator button. "Someone's _really_ jealous."

"I'm not jealous. He's just really annoying."

"He is."

"How could you have spent so much time with him without feeling the urge to deck him?"

"You're being presumptuous. Most of them are equally annoying."

"And the rest?"

"Worse."

"Ugh. You're a saint."

"No, I am paid to be patient."

"And to pretend that what they do is impressive?"

"And that they're interesting and attractive in general," Rachel said, side-glancing at Quinn with a knowing smile. "Here we are."

"Woah," the artist breathed out as she surveyed their room. "We have a nice view," she exclaimed before pressing her face on the glass wall.

The brunette positioned herself behind Quinn and wrapped her arms around the blonde's waist then rested her chin on the taller girl's shoulder.

"This is a really expensive room. I should be spending for you, not the other way around."

"You didn't really listen to Puck when he read the rules, did you?"

The young artist shook her head and grinned.

"Anything the escort decides to do with the client beyond the terms of agreement is outside company responsibility. I made this choice. There's no rule against that."

"You and your stupid rules."

"Makes it more interesting, don't you think?" Rachel husked lowly near the blonde's ear.

"Rach, are you really sure you want to—"

"Let me be selfish for one more night."

It was a point of no return. Both knew that this was not the answer to anything. It was indeed selfish, but not just for Rachel. Quinn had been left feeling empty despite—and perhaps because of—her trysts with some of the girls in her school. No one compared to the brunette. No one will.

And she wasn't the only one who felt like exploding at that moment.

Torn between a desire for absolute submission and the instinct to take control, the escort violently tugged a very naked blonde on top of her, imploring the younger girl to take her. Quinn hissed at the initial pain of nails raking on her back, but the older woman's coaxing by hooking her legs around the artist' waist was enough to ignore the bothersome sting.

There was no foreplay and no gentleness.

It was raw and animalistic.

There was intensity in Quinn's movements that made the escort's body burn up in white heat. She couldn't hold on; all it took was a whisper, asking her to let go.

And she did.

It felt like an eternity to come down from the high she felt. But it wasn't over.

There was so much frustration they needed to address physically. Both lost count of the number of times they peaked.

It became a new game.

One that both didn't mind playing.

And there was only one rule—until one begs to end it.

It was almost dawn when the older woman surrendered and admitted defeat. Her bruised body—caused by Quinn's bites—slumped on top of the artist. "No more…no more…"

"Tapped out?" the younger girl chuckled breathily while holding Rachel.

"I can't…I don't think I'll be able to move for days."

"Then let's not."

Rachel hummed in agreement then purred contently.

"Rach?"

"Yes?"

"That was amazing."

"Understatement."

"Rach?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"Mhm. I love you, too."

"Rach?"

"Quinn, go to sleep."

"But, where do we go—"

"Time, Quinn. We have time."

**A/N: Thank you for all the words of encouragement. You guys are really lovely and kind. I hope you don't mind the "slow" pacing of this chapter. There's so much to learn from Rachel and Quinn's thoughts, methinks.**

**p.s If anyone of you personally knows the author of Undeniable, please tell that wonderful person it is a crime against humanity to keep delaying an update for such an epic love story. Thank you. **


	14. Chapter 14

Rachel woke up from being assaulted on the neck by Quinn's lips. The girl was hovering on top of her; giving her feather-like kisses and without any exposed part left untouched.

"Good morning to you, too," Rachel giggled before moving her head to one side for her girlfriend to cover more area. The artist dutifully followed the escort's wordless instruction. In between kisses, Quinn kept mumbling words so soft and muffled, they were almost incoherent. The brunette smiled at what she could work out such as "hot", "sexy", and "beautiful".

"I'm really all that to you?"

"And more."

"Hmm, do elaborate."

Quinn worked her way up to Rachel's jaw before staring at her intensely. "I'm not sure you're ready to hear what I have to say."

Rachel swallowed thickly at the burning gaze and the feel of Quinn's finger gently rubbing the pad on her nipple. "And how do you expect me to answer that when your hand is distracting me?"

"Because in case you don't want to talk serious stuff, I have a back-up plan", the younger girl smirked.

"How serious is serious?"

"I wanna know why you insist on this set-up."

"I can't tell you that right now."

"Right now…" Quinn repeated wistfully. "That means you'll tell me some other time?"

"When I think you're ready."

Rach," she whispered softly. "Please don't take this the wrong way."

"I won't."

"Stop making decisions for me."

"I'm trying to protect you, Quinn."

"From what?"

"From being devastated."

"By what?"

Rachel smiled lovingly at the artist. "I _will_ tell you, okay? Just, like I said, trust me on this for now?"

The blonde surveyed the older girl's expression then nodded. "Okay. I do trust you."

"So…what was it you wanted to say earlier?"

"You really wanna know?"

The escort lifted her head and gave Quinn a quick kiss on the lips. "Yes, I do."

"You make me feel like I'm…significant."

"Quinn…I don't think—I've not treated you fairly, I know that."

"No, you don't get it. No one's ever made an effort to…push me away."

"That's," Rachel paused and frowned. "That's kind of a weird logic."

Quinn laughed before burrowing her face on the crook of the escort's neck. "It's not. People never cared enough to know me. Those girls…they're there because they're attracted to me for whatever reasons. Not because they like _me_. It's always 'wanna hook up?' or just, you know to experiment."

"How's that…"

"You made me realize last night, for whatever reason, you're doing this for me. You care enough to push me away even though it probably hurts you."

"It most definitely hurts me," Rachel admitted quietly.

And just like that, the sparkle in Quinn's eyes came back. "That's really good to know."

The brunette playfully slapped the younger girl's shoulder then held her tightly. "I'm glad I actually understood the context behind that statement, otherwise I would think you like to see me suffer."

Quinn sat up, tucked her legs under her and gazed at Rachel fondly. "I don't ever wanna see you suffer. I want to…do you really mean it? You want to have a family with me? It scares me, you know? I don't want to be like my parents."

"You won't be," Rachel reached out and took the blonde's hand. "You're sweet and loving…affectionate and sensitive."

Quinn's smile met her eyes. "I think you're going to be a great parent, too."

"We're getting ahead of ourselves," Rachel warned playfully.

"But you said I should think about the more…realistic aspects of our relationship."

"Yes, and I meant we need to discuss them together, step by step. It doesn't _have_ to be today and all at the same time. That's not possible. I'm just asking you to be prepared that it won't be easy."

"Nothing's easy."

"But some situations are harder than others. That's all I'm saying. And ours may be one of them."

Quinn nodded solemnly before swooping in for a kiss that was meant to be comforting and an assurance. "I just want to _really_ understand why we still have to go through this whole set-up."

"I thought you'd trust me. We're going in circles."

"I _do _trust you. But I would appreciate it if at a certain point; you could also actually trust my judgment and let me in. I want to _live_ with you."

"Will you fight for me, Quinn?"

"Of course."

"Even if it means cutting ties that are important to you?"

The artist frowned and contemplated on what could be the meaning behind Rachel's words. She didn't have a specific idea, but understood the general context.

She was ready.

She would give up her life to be with Rachel.

She said yes. With conviction and determination.

And with that, the escort's defenses weakened once more.

"So…what are our plans for today?"

"I thought we would just stay in bed?"

"And break me for good, Quinn Fabray?"

"Well…yeah, that's the plan."

"Babe," Rachel laughed before holding Quinn's face with her hands. "No, okay? We're not gunning for any record. You've given me more orgasms last night than what I've had in my whole 27 years—counting self-help, too."

"I fail to see the connection bet—woah."

"What?" Rachel scowled. "I _know_ how to masturbate, Quinn. Just because you think it's funny that you have more exper—"

"No," Quinn shushed with her finger touching the escort's lips. "that's not it. But now that you've mentioned that, you touching yourself, is an extremely erotic thought and I _must___witness that one of these days. But it's something else," she grinned. "…You called me babe."

Rachel's mouth formed an "o" and nodded slowly in realization. "I did, huh?"

"Yes, you did," Quinn said with her face beaming with joy. "And not in a patronizing way."

"I—really?"

"Sometimes. You only use terms of endearment when you're trying to placate me."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Quinn chuckled. "This makes up for everything."

"No, it doesn't."

"Geez, you're being too hard on yourself, Rach. I swear, I feel so much better already."

"Santana told me you've stopped painting since we…you know."

Quinn rolled onto her back, stared at the ceiling and huffed loudly. "I really need to reevaluate my friendship with her."

"You do. She's such a great friend to you, she deserves better."

"I really—Hey! I resent that. I _have _been trying to treat her better since you made me realize, before."

Rachel sniggered. "Stop deflecting."

"Am not. I'm also just wondering how many times she talks to you behind my back."

Rachel scooted closer and cuddled Quinn, murmuring against the artist's shoulder. "A lot. She was very worried at what she perceived to be self-destruction on your part. You promised me you'd never do drugs again."

"I wasn't—okay," the blonde sighed. "I know…I know…I'm sorry. I _did_ stop without anyone telling me. I realized I was being stupid, and doing all those crazy things won't get you back."

"So, you stopped sleeping with your _schoolmates_, too?" Rachel inquired, not bothering to hide the venom in her question.

"Yeah…" Quinn swallowed nervously. "Are you mad at me?"

"For sleeping with them? I was deeply hurt. But…no. I couldn't get mad at you. You didn't cheat on me. But the drugs? I am _really _disappointed because you broke your promise."

"I won't do it again."

"Do you need help?"

"No—I swear, I'm not addicted."

"You once had yourself checked for STD, right?"

"Uhm…yeah. Why?"

"Would you mind if I ask you to go to counseling?"

Quinn sat up and glared at Rachel. "I'm _not_ addicted."

"I'm not saying you _are_, Quinn. I said counseling, not rehab. But you _do_ turn to it when you feel so much pain. You're a step away from being dependent on it to alleviate your suffering. You self-destruct. You didn't address my first concern. Why did you stop painting?"

The blonde girl deflated visibly and hung her head low. "Because it was becoming too…dark and repetitive. It was just all anger and confusion. It's not my style to have rows of similarly themed work lying around my workshop."

"Hearing all of this, Quinn. I can't help but feel I'm not really good for you," the escort sighed heavily. "You were doing fine before me."

"Hey, no," the artist protested before rolling on top of Rachel. "You can ask Mr. Schue. My best outputs are those I made from the time we met. I'm just…I need to learn how to be less…intense."

"I don't have a problem with that, Quinn," Rachel smiled as she pulled Quinn closer. "Being intense…that's part of who you are. And I've learned to love it."

"It doesn't scare you anymore?"

"I'm still learning to deal with it. But no, I'm not that scared anymore."

"But…"

"But it's _how_ you vent things out that still scare me. Drugs? Breaking stuff?" Rachel pursed her lips and looked at Quinn sympathetically and stroked her hair. "This isn't just for me, you know? I want that you'd be the best person you can be—with or without me. You already know that."

"I don't like the without part," Quinn scowled.

"Yes, but since we are ten years apart, I'd probably die first and then, what would you do?"

"Spend the rest of my years waiting for my time to follow you."

"By being angry all the time?"

"No…by telling the world how wonderful you are through my art—Rach, there's a difference between death by old age or sickness or accident, and _you_ voluntarily walking out. It's the latter I can't survive. I won't survive another person I love so much quitting on me. You also already know that."

"And that person is me."

"_Yes_, Rachel," Quinn said with a look of incredulity. "You should know by now it's _you_. No one else, but _you_. And okay, I'll go to counseling. I'll do anything you want me to."

"But you know it's for your own good, right?"

"Yes," Quinn chuckled. "I'm not _that_ immature, alright? It's a slow process, but I'm getting there. You gotta factor in the age."

Rachel rolled her eyes and huffed. "Convenient to bring in the age gap thing, now."

"You _love_ the fact that I'm young and horny all the time."

"Whatever, Miss Fabray. My whole body is bruised. This qualifies as abuse."

"Miss Berry. I'm the one with scratches all over my back. You'd think I was attacked by a lion."

"Surely you exaggerate," the escort dismissed but nonetheless glanced subtly at Quinn's back. Attempting not to blush at her handiwork, Rachel cleared her throat and ignored the blonde's smug grin. "So, again, what are our plans today?"

"Well…there's this thing I go to every now and then."

"What _thing_?"

"Relax, no drugs are involved."

"But why do I get the feeling it's something illegal."

"That's because it's sorta is."

"Quinn!"

"You don't even know what it is!"

"Okay, fine," Rachel grumbled. "What is it?"

"It's this thing…my friend's father owns a casino and like, they change all the poker tables and stuff quickly, right? So, she's—well, she's very enterprising and you know what they say about apples not falling far from—"

"Quinn, you are rambling."

"Right, okay. She runs an underground casino. Totally legit."

"It _cannot_ possible be 'totally legit' if it's underground."

"I meant, there aren't like, syndicate-related links, or drugs. Just pure… wholesome… underground… casino," Quinn said with one eye closed, "for below 21."

Rachel's jaw slackened. "Nothing is sacred in this town. And you're a regular there."

"No—I mean, I go there a lot, but I don't really gamble."

"And it's never been raided?"

"There are worse things, you know?" Quinn said defensively. "Plus, it's kind of like an exclusive club. With passwords and all. So, it's not like a lot of people know."

"And I'm sure her father pays the police a lot."

"True, but we are in Vegas. Things like that are dime a dozen."

"So, in short, you want us to go there tonight?"

"Yeah…" Quinn drawled out. "But only if you're comfortable," she quickly added. "And I can ask San and Britt to go with us."

"I'd rather not involve them, in case something goes wrong."

"I promise," Quinn laughed. "Just…trust me. I want you to know there's more to life than running away from your past. Nothing wrong will happen. I've brought S there several times before. She is a poker goddess. She'd be more than happy to impress Britt."

Poker goddess was an understatement. And it wasn't just Brittany that was impressed by the Latina's gambling skills. Rachel watched in awe as Santana ranked up the chip board an hour after she sat down.

"Jesus, Quinn," Rachel whispered. "This is real money, right? Because Santana could potentially walk away with thousands of dollars tonight."

"Yup. I tell you. I can make a lot of money from Santana's skills."

"Wait, so that's _your_ money she's playing?"

"Well, yeah. Where else would she get the money from?"

The escort lolled her head from side to side then took a sip from her drink. She smiled at how the Latina looked visibly relaxed with Brittany sitting right behind her. "They seem very comfortable with each other."

"B and S? Yeah. Santana's finally coming to terms with her sexuality."

"Oh, so it wasn't always like this?"

Quinn shook her head before chuckling. "Santana was tolerant of me, my lifestyle and all. But it freaked her out, like really freaked out, when she realized how attracted she is with another girl."

"Well, I'm glad she's getting over it."

"Yeah…not everyone is like you," the artist grinned proudly.

"Hey, you know I freaked out, too."

"Yeah, but not as much."

"Your charm was strong enough to reign in any chance of me absolutely freaking out."

"Would my charm be able to entice you for a round of roulette?"

"I thought you didn't gamble."

"I _hardly_ gamble. But this is a rare occasion. Come on."

"And you choose roulette as your poison?"

"It's the only one I _sort of_ understand," Quinn laughed as she pulled Rachel up.

"I bet you secretly just wanna play with the wheel," the escort laughed as well and playfully nudged the younger girl.

"Well, that, too," Quinn admitted. "Plus, I heard a certain escort always served as a good luck charm to many high rollers."

Rachel raised her eyebrows and smirked as she settled next to Quinn at the roulette table. "And where in the world did you get that information?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

"Right," the brunette chuckled before picking up several green chips. "Try not to be too friendly with Puck. I get nervous—green to black and odd, Quinn."

"Why?" Quinn's eyes widened. "Is there a trick to this?"

"No," the brunette laughed. "In my years of hanging out in casinos, I've yet to know anyone break a code for roulette. Unless, I suppose, if you go to some seedy rings that rig the wheel. I just happen to like black and odd right now. Outside bets have higher chances, though lower payouts."

"Okay, you're the boss," the blonde relented and placed two green chips on each area of the layout. "And why does hanging out with Puck make you nervous?"

"Just because," Rachel huffed while watching the croupier spin the wheel then the ball in the opposite direction.

"Afraid that I'll find out more secrets?"

"I don't have any more secrets…not one that concerns Puck, anyway."

"Then why?"

"Because…because he has feelings for me," Rachel nervously admitted and carefully observing Quinn's reaction.

"Oh, I know that," the younger girl sniggered.

"You do?"

"He's very obvious."

"And you don't have problems with that?"

"Not that I don't…but I can understand why he loves you. It's…a weird bond we have."

"Well…okay," Rachel grinned widely as the ball landed at eleven. "Black and odd, what do you know?"

"Woah," Quinn whispered and clearly impressed at her fifty dollar return. "You are good."

"Just lucky. Wanna take a risk, Miss Fabray?" Rachel asked seductively.

The blonde's smirk widened. "Definitely."

They switched to playing roles again.

But this time, without the heaviness of sticking with the script.

Quinn started to become more daring with her bets, with Rachel beside her whispering and kissing her constantly for encouragement.

They won some, they lost some.

Quinn was all red from the older woman's unabashed display of affection despite a small crowd slowly drawing around them.

In the end, Quinn didn't care that she just broke even.

"Lord almighty. You were _this_ close to a free porn show," Santana guffawed as she subtly counted her money under the table as they waited for coffee at a diner.

"I personally enjoyed it," Brittany nodded solemnly. "So, Rachel…if I hired you—"

"Britts," Santana interjected with a horrified expression, "you just can't say things like that."

"Why not? You told me she's an escort."

The Latina shot an apologetic look at both Quinn and Rachel sitting at the opposite side of the booth. "Yes, well, no. Rachel is Quinn's girlfriend."

"Yeah, but you're still an escort, right, Rach?"

"I—well," the older woman cleared her throat, "I'm semi-retired."

"Which means?"

"Which means, I…only choose a certain number of clients these days. Very few."

"Well, that's a bummer."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Santana gasped. "Don't tell me you actually want to hire _her_?"

"I _did_ ask earlier, didn't I?"

"I thought you were just curious!"

"Exactly!"

"No, I meant, you know, just curious about the concept."

"Should we be here?" Rachel whispered to Quinn as their two companions continued to argue.

Quinn sipped her coffee then shrugged. "It's gonna end in a make out session, don't worry."

"Again, should we be here?"

The artist sighed dramatically. "Britt, you can't hire Rachel, because she's my girlfriend and that would really piss me off."

Brittany pouted and nodded begrudgingly. "Fine. But just so you know, Q. You're very lucky…and so am I," the taller blonde added before playfully nudging Santana. "I _was_ just teasing you, you know. I would never hire an escort when I have you."

Quinn rolled her eyes at Rachel as they watched the other couple shift from argumentative to sweet in a flash. "Told you."

"Are we…" the escort grimaced, "sort of like that?"

"Like what?"

"Them, I mean."

"Oh, no. We're definitely worse. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"If only Las Vegas allows same-sex marriage," Rachel sighed wistfully.

"We'd be in a drive-thru chapel by now?"

"Yup. You're doing and saying everything right, it's intoxicating."

"Well…actually, we do have domestic partnership laws… "

"Really? I need to pay more attention to local civil rights."

"Yeah—do you wanna?"

"No—well, yes," Rachel laughed. "But not right now."

"Oh," the artist grinned back. "Just an FYI, then?"

"Yeah, that really _is_ good to know," the escort reassured Quinn. "When the dust settles."

"Woah, hold up," Santana gasped. "Did I hear you correctly? Wedding?"

"I'm surprised you can hear. Kissing tends to make people go deaf," Quinn retorted.

"Really? That explains why Rachel walked in on us…" Brittany interjected.

"This conversation is giving me a headache," Rachel mumbled.

"Whatever, Madame Butterfly," the Latina scoffed. "Wedding?"

"We're _not_ getting married…yet," the artist replied. "We're just talking. Because you know, my woman's biological clock is ticking."

"_That_," the escort laughed while playfully whacking Quinn's head, "was sobering. I take back what I said earlier. You have a glorious way of screwing things up."

"And I swear, Quinn. If you elope, I'm gonna kill you. Nothing will get in between me and managing your wedding. Plus, I'll never forgive you if I don't get to be your maid of honor," Santana grumpily pointed out.

"Woah, woah," Quinn held her hands up defensively. "No one's getting married yet. And I won't screw up my own wedding, I swear. And I love you, Rach. Menopausal or not."

"Oddly enough, that is one of the sweetest thing you've ever said," the escort admitted.

"I have a way with words. And to your heart."

"Okay, you're really pushing it, Quinn."

"You both are. You're disgusting," the Latina threw back playfully.

Playful was the right word to describe the night. Rachel let all her guard down and for the first time became the girl she never had the chance to be. From the cheap hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese dinner Brittany and Santana treated her and Quinn to earlier, all the way to the joyride in Quinn's car with the blonde cheerleader taking control of the wheel to nowhere and everywhere, the escort began to understand what the artist meant that morning.

There was more to her life than running away from her past.

There is Quinn.

And as she watched the artist sang along to the song on the radio at the backseat—her eyes sparkling brightly and without a care in the world— Rachel knew Quinn deserved better than tonight.

Quinn deserved all of her.

A/N: I apologize for the delay and for a haphazardly done chapter. I've been sick, got hospitalized for a week and a half and still just recovering :/


	15. Chapter 15

"Oh, mother of…" Rachel mumbled to herself before forcing a mega-watt smile towards Judy Fabray. She was surprised to see Quinn's mother early in the morning picking up the newspaper and passionately waving at her as the she fed the cats.

"Mrs. Fabray," the escort breathed out. "Good morning."

"Good morning to you, too," the older woman cheerily replied. "And please, it's Judy."

"Yes, I'm sorry," the brunette chuckled nervously. "Judy, it is."

"Won't you come in and have breakfast with us? Quinn will be awake—well, hopefully—in a few minutes."

Rachel stood frozen for a solid minute. Or at least that's how it felt.

She wondered if she was about to voluntarily enter the lion's den and never come out alive. While there was no sign of Russell, life had been too unpredictable for the escort lately; she wouldn't be surprised if this was a case of entrapment.

There was, however, warmth and sincerity in Judy's eyes; the same kind that was passed on to Quinn.

"Rachel?"

"Hmm?"

"Breakfast?"

"Oh," the escort snapped back to reality and blushed, "yes, certainly. Breakfast sounds good. Great, even."

Judy chuckled and shook her head amusedly as Rachel followed her quietly inside the Fabray residence. The brunette immediately noted a very tangible difference in Quinn's home. It was clean, organized but homey. There were fresh flowers in almost every corner; the carpet didn't look like bugs have already created colonies under it and the whole house did not smell like paint.

Judy Fabray had apparently taken charge of this chicken coop.

"Grab a seat and have some muffins," the older blonde offered while she took out some coffee cups. "How do you prefer your eggs?"

"I-uhm…scrambled. Thank you," Rachel said meekly as she slowly sat down, silently praying for either Santana or Quinn to descend from their rooms above.

But it looked like God was still sleeping, too.

Santana ran down from the stairs and grabbed a couple of muffins before quickly heading out, screaming a very informative "Cheer practice y'all!", before slamming the door.

"She's very…vivacious. That Santana," Judy chuckled as she sat down across the kitchen island and faced Rachel directly. "A bit rough around the edges."

"She's very kind and cares about Quinn deeply," the escort replied in a slightly defensive tone.

"Oh, that goes without saying," the older blonde agreed. "I think she checks and curbs my daughter's generally sour disposition."

Rachel tightened her grip around the coffee mug. "Quinn is a lot more affectionate and sanguine than how you perceive her to be."

"Oh—I'm not…I'm not criticizing my own daughter. If anything, I blame myself for Quinnie's abrasive nature."

Rachel let out a shaky breath out of sheer nervousness. She couldn't decipher the point of this conversation, and she didn't want to actually find out. Yet, she was there and no excuse to go. Judy wasn't hostile—on the contrary, very hospitable—but that still didn't expose the reason behind this very disconcerting gesture.

"Judy—"

"I'm filing for a divorce, Rachel," Judy whispered.

Resembling a fish gasping for air, Rachel sputtered a few times before she was able to speak coherently. "I…I'm sorry…I don't know what—"

"Quinn has hinted that you two are…going through a rough patch. And my decision came before that. I'm hoping—" the blonde sighed and shook her head, "…this would really break my daughter's heart, won't it?"

"She tries hard to show that she doesn't care about her…family situation," Rachel said knowingly, to which Judy nodded in agreement.

"How much do you love my daughter?"

"I—so much, Judy. I love her so much."

"I don't know how she will react to the news—"

"I'll be there for her, I promise. I'll take care of her."

"That's all I need to know. This is going to be toughest on Quinn. And I want her to feel secure enough that she won't be alone. I want her to still know that you, Russell and I aren't going anywhere," the older woman smiled that showed some form of relief while Rachel looked down to shield her own grim expression. "Please don't tell Quinn. I just need to know you won't give up on her."

Rachel closed her eyes and pursed her lips in frustration. "Judy, I can't—"

Another secret.

Another source of guilt.

"She really loves you, too, you know?"

The brunette found herself smiling shyly, throwing all apprehension away temporarily. "I know."

"No, I don't think you do," Judy laughed. "You have no idea how shocked I was when she told me to bring her a psychologist. She said it was your idea."

"I—uhm, well, there's a context—"

"Oh, I know the context all too well, Rachel," the blonde woman chuckled. "My point is, I've been trying to get her to do that for _years_. She didn't have a choice when she almost died for pill overdose. But after that, she just abandoned it. So for her to just…walk in casually to a doctor because _you_ told her to. That's…I'm very impressed."

"So…she's started counseling?"

"I believe you spent the weekend with her? She told me last Monday, and she started yesterday. So for that alone, thank you."

"I don't think I deserve—I feel that—can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I feel that I'm an enabler."

Judy regarded Rachel for a few seconds, putting the brunette under careful scrutiny. The blonde woman didn't run a successful market research firm for nothing. She has studied behavior and she was always spot on with her conclusions. "I don't know you well enough, obviously. But what I do know is this—she loves you. So you either deal with that or don't. I think you are scared to admit that there is someone who actually treats you as the most important person in their life."

"P-pardon?"

"You're not disposable to Quinn. You're used to that treatment, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable discu—"

"My daughter's business is mine," Judy said softly. "I'm not here to judge you, Rachel. I'm here as Quinn's mother—something I should have done a long time ago. Don't hurt her because you believe you don't deserve a chance to be treated like a human being given your…occupation."

"I—I don't want to hurt her. I'm doing the best I—"

"Well, look who's finally up," Judy exclaimed, directed more as a signal for Rachel than for Quinn.

Quinn grumpily entered the kitchen and went straight to the percolator, failing to notice the escort's presence. Rubbing her eye then scratching her head, the artist let out a loud yawn before finally realizing there was another person in the room. Her eyes widened and visibly swallowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Ever the charmer," Judy lamented.

Quinn scowled as her eyes darted back and forth from her mother to Rachel.

"Judy invited me over," Rachel smirked. "She makes amazing muffins."

"Why thank you, Rachel."

"You _must_ tell me your recipe."

"You bake, too?"

"Yes! Quinn adores my brownies. Don't you, Quinn?"

The artist stood stiffly, anxiously watching the exchange. "What have _you_ two been talking about? Really."

"Oh, you know. Rachel's been telling me about…" Judy chuckled and nodded at Rachel.

"…About," the escort nodded slowly, "my…love for cats. She saw me feeding the stray cats outside."

Quinn's face contorted into a pained expression then sat down quietly next to Rachel. "No, really. What have you been talking about?"

Rachel took Quinn's hand and rubbed it soothingly. "Nothing bad."

"Liar."

"Is going to counseling bad?" Rachel cooed.

Quinn's attention snapped quickly at Judy to confirm. "That's it? You only talked about that?"

"What where you expecting, Quinnie?"

The younger blonde blushed. "Don't…don't call me that. I'm not five anymore."

"I think it's actually adorable, Quinn," the brunette reassured.

"I'm _not —_"

"Oh! Did Quinnie ever show you her baby pictures?" Judy snapped her fingers and began walking outside the kitchen.

"Oh, god, no. Mom, mom," Quinn rushed towards Judy and pulled her back inside. "Let's not go there."

"Why not? You were such a cute baby."

"No baby pictures, no embarrassing stories. Please. Please."

"Alright, alright," Judy said with a mock sigh. "Only being a proud mother. Eggs, honey?"

"Yeah," Quinn groaned before returning to her seat.

Rachel extended her hand and rubbed Quinn's back to comfort the agitated artist. "We were just teasing you," she whispered lowly.

"Yeah?" Quinn mumbled. "It's just not funny to see you and mom…talking about me."

"Is there anything you're hiding?" Rachel asked with mischievous eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," the younger blonde said with a pout that eventually transformed into a full-on set of puckered lips.

"I'm not kissing you in front of your mom," the escort protested in a hushed tone before nervously glancing at Judy who quietly chuckled while preparing Quinn's breakfast. "Seriously, Quinn. I won't."

"Why noooot? Mom, close your eyes for a second, will you?"

"Hmm?"

"Quinn!" Rachel laughed while holding the younger girl's head down. "Don't listen to her, Judy," she added before the oldest of women in the room could figure out what it's about.

"Kids," Judy scoffed then placed a plate of sausage and eggs. "So, Rachel. What's your intention with my daughter?" she quipped, causing Quinn to stop with her fork hanging midair and Rachel wide-eyed and still.

"Mom, I don't think—"

"I…well, Judy, I told you earlier—"

"I know, you said you love my Quinnie. But I do _want_ to know now what your plans are. She is my only daughter, you know?" the woman smirked good-naturedly.

"You—you told my mom you love me?"

"Is that hard to believe?"

"No…just surprised—hey, you said you didn't talk about me!"

"I didn't actually confirm nor deny anything," Rachel rolled her eyes.

"You could be a good lawyer, you know that?"

Judy cleared her throat to lure attention back to her. "So, Rachel?"

"I—uhm, well, you see…"

Quinn shook her head at Rachel's hesitation. "Mom, really. _Not_ now. Rachel can't even decide if we're together or not."

"Uh huh," the older blonde nodded. "Still in that 'it's complicated' stage?"

"Yes," both Rachel and Quinn breathed out.

"Right. Well, word of advice?"

"Go ahead," the artist pursed her lips and nodded.

"Un-complicate it."

"Wow, mom. Take your own advice."

"Oh, I am, honey," Judy smiled sadly before giving Quinn a kiss on her cheek and hugged her tightly. "I am."

Quinn frowned slightly and surprisingly hugged her mother back. "Where are you going?"

"Spa," the older blonde said with a wink to lighten the atmosphere. "Enjoy your breakfast. Rachel? Coffee soon?"

"Oh—yes, coffee. Certainly. Coffee sounds good. Really good."

The young artist scrutinized Rachel silently before hearing the door close. "What was that all about?"

"No idea."

"Rachel."

"Quinn, your mom just wants to know me. You shouldn't be worried."

"I guess you're right…did you really tell my mom you love me?"

"Yes," Rachel laughed then kissed Quinn. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Just…I don't know. If your mom was still alive, and I get to talk to her. I'd be very nervous."

"What makes you think I wasn't? Your mom looks very…"

"Business-like?"

"Yeah. Take no prisoners type."

"Yeah, dad's a lot warmer."

"So… are you free today?"

"You told me to. Though I didn't really make plans. We can play it by—"

"I did," Rachel interrupted. "I made plans. For us. I mean."

"…Really? But—"

"Can we…can't we—can we throw away labels and status for now?"

"Just for today?"

"Well…"

"You need to make up your mind, you know? I mean. Just because you know I'd be around and wait for you forever; doesn't mean you should just let me."

"Trust me, Quinn—"

"See, that's sort of my problem, Rach," Quinn sighed before stuffing a huge chunk of sausage inside her mouth. "I trust you. _So _much that I tend to just…accept everything you say."

"I'm sorry I couldn't answer your mom earlier."

"Can you answer me, then?"

"Quinn, I'm here inside your house, and your mom just served me breakfast. _Even_ without a label, how else can you see this?"

"It's exasperating."

"I'm sorry."

The artist clucked her tongue then went on to eating her food. There was no winning, and at that point, she knew pushing it won't amount to anything. Rachel was prancing back in her life and that was all that mattered.

Her Rachel had plans today for them.

That was new and exhilarating.

"Aww, did you Google this place?" The artist cheekily asked, savoring the very rare moment of Rachel blushing profusely.

"I didn't have to. 18b is quite popular," the escort huffed. "If you've been here so many times—"

"I have," the younger girl nodded. "But not with you. And I usually just go around the galleries. Thousands of things to do here, yeah?"

Rachel's expression fell and began rummaging through her bag to search for her car key. "Yes, I suppose. But we can still find some other place to go. It's still early."

Ignoring the brunette's suggestion, Quinn grabbed her wrist and started walking. "There's a toy store here I wanna see. Come on."

"But—"

"Rach," the blonde smiled in an uncharacteristic gentle manner. "I love this place, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"I don't—I don't really care exactly where I am right now." Quinn muttered shyly. "We're…on a date, and you planned it. That's all that matters to me."

Recovering her confidence, Rachel squeezed the artist's hand in response. "Happy Panda Toys, huh?" She said after scanning the entrance of the establishment.

"I'm much more interested in browsing through not-so-wholesome toys with you, though" The younger girl whispered before walking towards the Blind Boxed Toys.

Slightly stunned at her body's reaction, Rachel stood firmly on her spot and gulped loudly. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Maybe," Quinn answered back nonchalantly. "Oh, hey this is cool," she continued before picking up a Bruce Lee's Temple of Kung Fu blind box.

Rachel smiled and shook her head. "So, what's so special about that?"

"Blind boxes is…what the name suggests. You don't know what's really inside. Well, you kind of do because, like this one, you know it's Bruce Lee's Temple of Kung Fu."

"But you don't know what character."

"Yeah, kind of like trading cards."

"And…you're into these…blind boxes?" Rachel asked while scrutinizing one.

"Not really," Quinn laughed. "But they are rather cute. And I can appreciate why some people go crazy over these toys."

"Because?"

"The feeling of anticipation. It can be thrilling."

"Over a box of toy."

Quinn turned around and grinned at Rachel. "You really need to lighten up and appreciate the little things."

"It's hard to do that when I thought of nothing but survival."

"But that doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't?"

"Shouldn't you be more appreciative of small pleasures when you've gone through hard times? You're not some Upper East princess who'd get bored easily because you had everything."

"I suppose," Rachel agreed quietly, "I'm just…I'm always crippled by fear that I'd go back to being so impoverished. I think nothing but to work and save because no one would be there to catch me if and when I fall."

"You can always choose me to be that person. And I—I choose you to be that person for me."

The older woman leaned forward and kissed Quinn softly. "With you, it isn't much of a choice, Quinn," she gushed as she stroked the artist's cheek with her thumb. "You're like this powerful magnet that just draws me to you, no matter how hard I resist."

"Is… that a good thing?"

"It's a great thing. I would have…run away—well, okay, I've done that several times—but I keep coming back," the older woman rambled. "And it makes me happy. Being around you makes me happy."

"I want you to _always_ be happy."

The implication of what Quinn said did not escape Rachel. Kissing the blonde girl one more time, the escort smiled widely. "Can I tell you something?"

"Do you still have to ask permission?"

"No," Rachel laughed. "But it sounds right to do so."

"Okay," the younger girl grinned. "What is it then?"

"I reached my goal. Financially, I mean."

"That's…amazing?"

"It is," Rachel nodded solemnly. "It's something very important for the future."

"I'm glad you've secured your future."

"_Our_ future."

"I'm…included?"

"I told you…to trust me. I needed time to sort things out."

"I still have a lot of questions."

"And I am slowly getting ready to answer them."

The young artist studied Rachel's determined expression then looked outside and sighed contently. "I'll ask…sometime soon. But today, we're just two people exploring this part of Nevada."

**A/N: This isn't worth your wait. I really do apologize. As with my past update, I got sick and had an operation (I AM ALL BETTER NOW!). This is obviously some sort of a filler, especially since I've gotten messages inquiring whether I plan to continue with this story or not. The answer is a definite yes. **


	16. Chapter 16

"How did you…how did you figure it out?" Judy asked nervously.

"Quinn…she didn't—I don't think she has any idea. I figured it out on my own, Judy."

The older Fabray closed her eyes in relief and nodded. "And you're just confirming your hunch?"

"Yes."

Rachel poured coffee over two mugs then sat down in front of Judy. A wave of guilt took over Rachel as she watched the woman silently, and then thought of her own mother. When she was a lot younger, Rachel dreamt of Shelby to be what Judy was—rich, educated, and successful. Now that she had grown wiser, she regretted not telling her mother that was proud of her, despite the circumstances.

Two women, with different paths, but it all boiled down to them being mothers wanting to protect their children the best way they could.

It was mid-afternoon and Quinn was in a mall with Santana as the former promised the latter some shopping/bonding time. Rachel took the opportunity to speak with Judy about what transpired in the morning—barring intimate details.

"It's not too late to look for schools," Rachel said in between carefully measured breaths as she scrolled through websites. "Quinn?"

"I'm listening. I heard," was the artist's response. Sprawled all over Rachel's bed, Quinn sighed heavily and stared intently at the ceiling. "Your room needs some color."

"Don't change the subject, sweetheart."

The teenager sat up and tucked her legs between her thighs. "I'm not. I just don't know how to respond to that, Rach. Why can't I just…keep painting? Why do I _need_ to be in a school?"

The brunette turned around and looked pointedly at Quinn. "We've talked about this. You _know_ why."

"Come here," the younger girl ordered. Rachel complied immediately, walking across the room and crawling right into Quinn's arms. Letting silence envelope the atmosphere for a few minute, Quinn forced herself to speak out. "Do you really think I won't have direction if I don't go to school?"

"No, you know it's not about that. Not anymore," Rachel mumbled against the other girl's chest. "It's about you doing the best you can. You're amazing, Quinn. It _won't_ hurt to learn more."

"If I don't like it…"

"Then you can drop out after the first semester. But you have _got___to at least try. I know you can be pig-headed, but just try, please?" When Quinn furrowed her brows in response, Rachel sat up and cupped the blonde girl's face, forcing hazel eyes to look directly at her. "You can't have your world revolve around me. You need to explore and expand your horizon."

"What's school got to do with that?"

"You'll meet people just like _you_."

Quinn's steely gaze faltered for a second.

And with that, realization dawned into Rachel.

"What's making you so scared, Quinn?"

"Nothing. I just really…" The artist paused and shook her head. Smiling ruefully, she mumbled softly, "I don't think… I'm good enough."

"You don't think…you're not good enough?" Rachel repeated with an incredulous expression.

Quinn was fully clothed at that moment, but the way she hung her head low and her arms crossed around chest, she might have as well been stripped down to the bone in front of a stranger. "I admit, I really have to learn more about visual art, but Quinn, you…you've had exhibits, your works are in an art gallery. You—people _pay_ for your paintings."

The artist twisted her lips and shrugged. "We're in Las Vegas. People know shit about art. I get featured once in a website, and they all think I'm the next best thing. They _don't_know anything. They all just _think_ and _pretend_ they know. And because they can afford it, they grab it."

"That's not true, and you know—okay, maybe a part of that is true," the brunette conceded after seeing Quinn's raised eyebrow. "But you will encounter so many rich, pretentious people _anywhere_, Quinn."

"Yeah, but you'd find more of them here per square meter than in any other city."

Rachel sighed, and then tried a different tactic by leaning close to Quinn's ear. "Where's that bravado I've always found sexy?"

"Oh, it's still here," the younger girl chuckled softly. "I just…we're in your bed," she followed quickly with a pained expression. "I don't…I didn't feel the need to be…you know. My, uhm, therapist told me to not—to be more honest with myself and well…I thought you would want me to be more—"

"I'm sorry. I do want you to," Rachel interjected quickly. "I just…I'm genuinely surprised you think—"

"I don't want to find out. When…if I go to an art school, Rachel, you're right. I will be with people like _me_. And—and I don't…they'll be better than me. Here, I'm good enough. It's settled. But if I go somewhere else…"

"Do _you_ want to be somewhere else?"

Quinn quirked her lips and life was brought back in her eyes. "I _hate_ this place. I want to get out of here. Nothing here is real. Except you."

"But you're afraid that you're not good enough."

"Yeah…"

"What if you are?"

"I was never good enough for anything."

"Babe, you're more than good for me. You're also the best friend anyone can have. And you can ask Santana to confirm it. I'm more than sure she will. What are you talking about, Quinn?"

"I always…when compared to other people…like my mom, or…my sister. I mean, I'm not even—with Santana. Dad only started noticing me when Frannie died."

Rachel's eyebrows became deeply knitted together. "What do you mean he only started noticing you when Frannie died?"

The artist exhaled loudly. "This whole talking thing, it exhausts me," she lamented before puffing her cheeks.

"Hey, you're the one who keeps demanding for answers and honesty," Rachel chuckled then poked Quinn's cheek playfully. "Go talk, my lovely puffer fish."

"Okay," Quinn nodded. "It's kind of shallow. It's just…when we were still all living together…Dad would—he was always busy, well still is, but yeah…the point of my story is, when he would come home late at night, he would always go to Frannie's room and say good night and I don't know, he would stay there for about an hour—I guess to talk about her day. But he never did that to me."

Rachel was grateful that her head was still burrowed on Quinn's chest as her expression changed to worry. "An hour?"

"Yeah," Quinn sighed. "I would hear his footsteps. I would peep through my door and see him enter her room. And I remember feeling so angry at Frannie because she kept dad to herself. I mean…I know it's not _her_ fault that she was the favored one but…yeah. I could hear dad mumble how much he loved Fran. I mean, sometimes I pressed my ear against the wall our rooms shared."

"So…" Rachel swallowed then cleared her throat, forcing herself to keep a genial tone. "You not only stalked your father, you also were an eavesdropper, huh?"

"I guess," Quinn laughed softly. "But anyway…when Fran left the house, my mom…well, she forced me to go with my sister. You have _no_ idea how hurt I was when I heard mom just…practically throwing me away like that."

"I thought you said _you_ decided to go with her."

"Yeah, well, it's always easier to believe that it was _my_ choice. I don't want people to—I'm not a stray kitten, you know?"

The implication wasn't lost on Rachel. She sat up again and kissed Quinn's lips firmly. "You're not. You never were to me."

The young artist's smiled in relief. "I'm not mad at my mom anymore, though."

"You're not?"

"If she didn't do that—I mean this is quite a long shot—but yeah, if she didn't…we wouldn't have met."

Rachel smiled genuinely this time. "You really are quite the charmer."

"Only to you, apparently."

"I like it _just_ the way it is," the older woman affirmed strongly. "Anyway, you should go thank your mom, then."

"Yeah…yeah I guess I should. That move saved my life, huh?" Quinn said with cheesy smile.

The brunette, however, responded with a solemn nod. "In more ways than one."

"I love you," Quinn said in an equally somber tone after a few moments of studying Rachel's face. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

It was now easier for those words to come out of them, but the weight of it seemed to be heavier this time.

As if on cue, Rachel attacked Quinn with a searing kiss and a gentle push on her shoulders. Quinn immediately responded by lying down on her back. "Damn," she breathed out as she watched Rachel take off her shirt and throw it away carelessly. "I love this talking thing."

The brunette straddled Quinn and smiled coyly, letting the younger girl take in her naked form. "Your reward," she husked seductively before grinding against the blonde. Shutting her eyes, the brunette allowed the sensation of the younger girl's jeans, rubbing and creating lovely friction at her center take over her.

With mouth agape, Quinn watched in awe for a few seconds before forcing herself to stop leering and start participating. Her hand, however, was quickly swatted away by the woman on top of her. A whiny-sounding "Rachel" was all she could mutter before all traces of resentment was washed out by a forceful grind. It sent shockwaves of pleasure all over her body. "Take it off," she struggled to say. "Off," she repeated with more force this time.

The artist felt Rachel's fingers gently unbutton her jeans. She felt goosebumps while the brunette unzipped it slowly. It felt like an eternity before she realized she was already half-naked. And a hundred years more before Rachel repositioned herself back on top of her.

The escort smiled widely as she lifted Quinn's shirt slowly and reverently. The younger girl smiled back and shook her head, quietly understanding that Rachel was enjoying the build-up. She mentally noted to be more patient and let the brunette take over completely whenever she was in the mood for it.

Chastising herself for being demanding earlier, Quinn sought for redemption. She breathed deeply and calmed herself—as calm as she could get in this aroused stage. Resting her arms on top of her head, Quinn waited for Rachel to claim her.

It was sensory overload. Rachel always had that effect on Quinn. But when the escort took control, the artist's body always turned hypersensitive, almost unraveling at the feeling of Rachel's mouth assaulting her breast.

The world stood still and nothing else was alive except Rachel and her.

Rachel looked up and saw Quinn staring at her with lust, with eyes glowing like ember. "Rachel…Rachel…" Quinn whispered in between ragged breaths.

"What do you want, Quinn?"

"Take me."

Rachel hesitated and her mind suddenly became too busy. She gently caressed the other girl's stomach. Quinn was on fire, and Rachel felt it. Her skin burned with passion. The escort heard the younger girl growl in frustration but said nothing else. She knew she was being too gentle, too careful in fear of hurting the blonde girl.

"Rachel?"

The older woman's eyes met Quinn's and saw the questions written all over the younger girl's face. "What's wrong?"

Rachel shook her head slowly and smiled. "Nothing's wrong. I just…you're so beautiful, Quinn. Your skin…it's like porcelain. So is your heart."

"Easy to break, huh?"

"In the wrong hands."

"Am I? Right now?"

Rachel mulled over the question but didn't make the increasingly nervous girl wait for long. "No…not anymore."

She fought the urge to mark Quinn in every nook and cranny. She wanted to, so badly. And so she did. She would let the world know that this achingly beautiful girl was not to be touched by anyone else.

Certainly not Russell Fabray.

Something had to be done. What it was, Rachel had no clue. And as she held on to Quinn, with both of them basking in the afterglow, she thought of one person.

Judy Fabray.

Judy sighed once again and shook her head."I was never sure. Until Frannie told me after her high school graduation. I had to…it was too late for her, but not for Quinn. I should have been there for _both_ my girls. But I—that was the best I could do at that point. Frannie…she didn't want anyone else to know."

"Judy," Rachel sighed. "You don't… I think—believe you did the right thing."

"Did I?" Judy gripped her coffee mug. "It drove Frannie to madness. I lost her"

The brunette reached out and took Judy's hand. "Quinn is still here. Because of you."

"I've been keeping this for so long," the older woman cried softly and clutched her chest. "I thought…I worked hard for my family, Rachel. But I've done more damage. God, I'm such a failure."

"I'm not—I'm not here to judge you," the brunette responded. "It's not too late for you and Quinn. You _have_ to tell her."

"I can't," the older blonde shook her head violently. "Quinn—she _worships_ Russell.

"And he doesn't deserve an ounce of respect from Quinn," Rachel spat with venom.

Judy wiped her eyes and nodded. "If I tell her, Quinn will really blame me for Frannie's death."

"Why would she? You're not the one who—"

"I'm their _mother_, Rachel. I should have known. I should've felt something was wrong. But I let myself be consumed by work, putting blinders on to what's happening in my own home. I let Frannie handle things—her depression, on her own because I was too scared to confront reality."

"Why…did you not file for divorce immediately?"

"For the first few years, I was in denial. I believed Frannie, but Russell…he's my husband, the _father_ of my children. It was hard to just…reconcile everything. People see me as a modern woman," she said before rolling her eyes, "whatever that means."

"But?" Rachel said with a knowing smile.

Judy smiled back and sipped from her mug. "But deep down…I'm still your suburban girl from a traditional home. I could not bear show my dirty linen in public. The thought of divorce…I could hear my father call me a failure of a woman. That I could not hold a family together. It's not—there's no justification…" she lingered before shaking her head again.

"So, you did the best you could by compromising."

"All _forms_ of it. Open-marriage was one. It doesn't work, by the way," Judy said with her finger wagging at Rachel.

Scandalized, the brunette gasped at the other woman's implication. "Quinn and I, we won't—we don't believe—and marriage is not—I mean, it's too early—"

"For future reference, dear," Judy laughed. "Believe me, I will be the first to object if you two decide to get married right now."

Rachel's eyes widened and nodded quickly. "We're not yet there."

"Are you sure?"

Those scrutinizing eyes made Rachel blush in shame. "There…might have been a proposal…or two…though they were, obviously, not taken seriously enough."

"I thought so. My daughter can be very…"

"Intense," both women said simultaneously. "But so am I," Rachel added. "At least when it comes to Quinn."

"She has that effect on people. I've always…tried not to really care much…but I've seen it with those…her friends," Judy said carefully.

"Oh, I _know_ about those _friends_," the brunette responded with a smirk.

"For the record, you're the first girl she's ever called her girlfriend. And the first girl I liked."

"That means so much to me, Judy," Rachel grinned. "I do love her."

"And those issues you two are working on?"

"Still working,"

"Never-ending, is it?"

"Certainly."

"Well, take it as a good thing," Judy smiled sympathetically. "It means there _is_ a relationship to work on."

"Throwing it back at you and Quinn," Rachel smiled back.

**A/N: Slowly attempting to answer all the questions in this story now. **


End file.
